PS 3537 
•H9762 
B6 
1915 
Copy 1 


:ional Copyrighted (in England, her Colonies, and 
atos) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors 


No. 310 


BLOSSOMING OF 
MARY ANNE 


A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 


BY 

MARION SHORT 

Ikiscd upon a Two Act Comedy by Bessie IVreford 
Noiirse Untitled “ When Willy Came Home 
from Yale A 


CoPYKTOTlT. nv SAMl^KL FRENCH 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

CAUTION.—Amateurs and Professionals are hereby warned that 
THE MLOSSOMINO OF MARY ANN, being fully proteeted under the 
Copyright Laws of the United States, is subject to a Royalty, and any 
one presenting the play without the consent of Samuel French, will be 
liable to the penalties by law provided. Application for the right to 
produce “THE BLOSSOMING OP MARY ANN,” must be made to 
Samuel French, 2S-.S0 West .TSth Street. New York. 


New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30 ^YEST 3Sth STREET 


London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
26 Southampton Street 
STRAND 














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THE BLOSSOMING OF 
MARY ANNE 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 


BY 

MARION SHORT 

ii 

Based upon a Two Act Comedy by Bessie Wreford 
Noiirse Entitled "" When Willy Came Home 
from Yale A 


Copyright, 1915, by SAMUEL FRENCH 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


CAUTION.—Amateurs and Professionals are hereby Avarned that 
THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANN, being fully protected under the 
Copyright Laws of the United States, is subject to a Royalty, and any 
one presenting the play without the consent of Samuel French, ivill be 
liable to the penalties by law provided. 'Application for the right to 
produce “THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANN,” must be made to 
Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. ; 


NEW YORK 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30 WEST 38th STREET 


LONDON 

SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD., 

20 SOUTHAMPTON STREET 
STRAND 





PS 3537 

THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE 


CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

William BaekeLey. A Yale man 

Charles Mason ] 

Lloyd Henderson . Of Barkeley’s fraternity 

Teddy Farnum J 

Mrs. Henry Kate Kirkland. .A Nezv York society 

zvoman 

Mrs. John Simmons.Mrs. Kirkland’s sister 

Mary Anne Simmons. .. .Mrs. Kirkland’s niece 

Betsy Scroggins.Mrs. Simmons’ hired help 

Sarah Applegate .. .Farmdale dressmaker 

and tozvn gossip 

Elaine Jewett. A society girl 

Trella Jewett.Elaine’s invalid sister 

Patty Cloverleaf. A society girl 

Exras :— Guests at fraternity dance, Mrs. Kirk¬ 
land’s maid. 


©C1.D 41749 

SEP 15 !9I5 
^ / 










THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. -3 


Sl^NOPSIS OF SCENES. ’ 

Act I.—Sitting room of the Simmons home in 
Farmdale. 

Act IL—A room in Mrs. Kirkland’s New York 
home. 

Act III.—Ante-room in Elaine Jewett’s home in 
New York. 

Act IV.—Same as Act I. 

Note :— The same interior may he used for all the 
acts with judicious change of furnishings. 

Time:— The present. 


DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS. 

William Barkeley. Has a personality suggest¬ 
ing the most pleasing type of young college man, 
physically attractive and mentally up-to-date. He is 
always well dressed, but without ostentation. 

Charles Mason. A well-mannered chap used to 
good society. 

Lloyd Henderson. A trifle older and more 
settled in manner than the others of his fraternity. 

Teddy Farnum. Very much the society type, 
young, impulsive, superficial. Distinctly a comedy' 
character. 

Mrs. Kirkland. A middle-aged woman of com¬ 
manding appearance, at once gracious and im¬ 
perious, and faultlessly attired. 



4 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Mrs. Simmons. She is a typical countrywoman, 
hospitable and kind hearted. Her clothing suggests 
the country dressmaker, but is not in the least 
grotesque. 

Betsy Scroggins. She is a slip-shod young 
servant girl, unkempt, countrified, very slow spoken, 
smiling, sentimental, and above all, lazy. 

. Miss Slissy. A spinster, tall, thin, inquisitive, 
sharptongued, with an eccentric manner of dressing 
the hair, and a fondness for cheap jewelry and over 
fussiness in attire. 

Elaine Jewett. Smartly gowned, well poised, 
with a manner self centered and rather unsympa¬ 
thetic except where her own affections are con¬ 
cerned. 

Trella Jewett. Exceedingly frail and spirituelle 
in appearance, gentle-voiced and sv/eet. She is 
younger and more appealing than Elaine. 

Patsy Cloverleaf. A stylish, likeable type of 
society girl, all smiles and chatter. 

Mary Anne Simmons. She is pretty, refined, 
and modest, but with warm-hearted, unconventional 
ways which add to her natural attractiveness. A 
young and slender girl with large, expressive eyes 
and beautiful hair, and with the gift of personal 
magnetism, would most nearly approach the ideal 
type for this character. 

Extras :—The guests are in ball-room attire. Mrs. 
Kirkland’s maid wears the conventional clothes 
belonging to her position. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE 


ACT L 

Scene:— Sitting-room of the Simmons country 
home in Farmdale. The furniture is old 
fashioned and may be, if desired, of the zvalnut 
and horsehair variety. There is a table at c. 
containing books and a large lamp. Sofa at l. 
Arm chair at r. Other chairs ad lib. Mantel¬ 
piece and windozv at r. Door c. in flat and at 
L. Old fashioned portraits in crayon on the 
wall. Ornaments on the mantelpiece in keep¬ 
ing with the furniture. When door c. is opeuy 
a garden backing is disclosed. 


Time :• — June. 

DISCOVERED: — Mrs. Simmons and Bets\% 
w'ith sleeves rolled up, dusting the furniture. 
Miss Slissy, consciously smoothing out her 
new dress and fooling with the buttons of her 
transparent gloves is seated on the sofa. Her 
hat is garishly trimmed with flowers. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Continuing the conversatio7t 
in progress) And she gave me no warnin’ at all, 
just telegraphed in the mornin’ she’d be here in the 
afternoon. Why, I’d calculated to house-clean a 
whole week before she got here, to have things 
lookin’ right! 

Miss Slissy. Dust is terrible this time of the 

5 



6 THE BLOSSOAHNG OF MARY ANNE. 


year, especially when folks live like you do on the 
dusty side of the road. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Attacking another piece of 
furniture zvith dust-cloth) You’ll excuse me for 
goin’ right ahead, won’t you. Miss Slissy? There 
ain’t any time to lose. 

IMiss Slissy. {Her manner one of plaintive re¬ 
proach) Certainly I’ll excuse you, though I did 
come over to set the afternoon, and we hain’t talked 
more’ll a couple of hours. 

]Mrs. Simmons. Some other time I’d be glad 
to have you spend the day but- 

Miss Slissy. {Interrupting, rather acidly) 
Ain’t askin’ me to go home, be you? 

Mrs. Simmons. Of course I ain’t, Sairy Ap¬ 
plegate Slissy, but I know when you go visitin’ you 
don’t want people to be sewin’, or doin’ house- 
Avork, or anything to interrupt your conversation, 
and I’m just obliged to keep right on. {Moves to 
another piece of furniture) You certainly do 
know more about the neighbors than any other 
three women in town. 

(Betsy carries a filled scrap-basket off l.) 

Miss Slissy. {Proudly) I try to. I think it’s 
some one’s duty to find out what’s goin’ on, or 
Avhat would folks do for somethin’ to talk about? 
Wdiere’s Mary Anne? 

Mrs. Simmons. She’s gone to the garden after 
some flowers. She knows her Aunt Rhoda is fond 
of ’em, and she calculates to put ’em all over the 
house. 

I^Iiss Slissy. Dear me, suz! And when it’s 
only a relative. But of course I s’pose Rhoda hav¬ 
in’ so much money does make a difference. 

Miss Simmons. {Quickly resents the idea) No 
it doesn’t, Sairy Applegate! We’d fix up for her 
just the same if she didn’t have a penny. Mary 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 7 

Anne simply loves and worships her Aunt Rhoda, 
and her aunt does her. Now why don’t Betsy get 
back to help me? {She goes to l. and calls off) 
Betsy! {Turns to Miss Slissy) That girl’s the 
laziest mortal that ever drew the breath of life. 
'{Calls again) Betsy! 

Betsy. {Drawls from off l. ) Ye-es’m! 

Mrs. Simmons. Come here. (Betsy slouches 
in, carry mg empty scrap-basket) What do you 
mean a settin’ on that back step as if there was 
nothin’ to do but gaze at the woodshed. 

Betsy. {Lazily) I wasn’t gazin’ at the wood¬ 
shed. 

Mrs. Simmons. Then what was you gazin’ at, 
please ? 

Betsy. {IVith much satisfaction) The hired 
man. He has on a pair of new boots. 

Mrs. Simmons. Well, if I set you to dustin’ the 
hired man, I reckon for once you’d stick to your 
work. He’s the only article you seem able to keep 
your mind on. Wipe under that table. (Betsy, 
zvith mnich deliheraiion, proceeds to obey) My 
goodness, that dust looks as if it had been there 
ever since Noah occupied the ark. 

Miss Slissy. {To Mrs. Simmons) They say 
your sister is a millionairess, and that her husband, 
Tom Kirkland, made his money sellin’ cattle. « 

Mrs. Simmons. Cattle? He didn’t. 

Miss Slissy. Well, some one told me he 
speculated in bulls and bears, so I included ’em in 
one general name to be more elegant. And they 
do say he never goes near the pasture, but sets 
right there in his office buyin’ and sellin’ stock. 
She’ll make quite a stay with you, won’t she? 

Mrs. Simmons. I hope so. She’d tired and 
needs a rest. {Turns to Betsy) You needn’t 
keep on rubbin’ like them legs had a case of rheu¬ 
matism. They’re clean by this time. Let down 


8 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


that window curtain, and straighten the mantel¬ 
piece. 

(Betsy slozvlv rises, walks zvifh flapping slippers 
to the mantelpiece and begins to arrange orna¬ 
ments.) 

Miss Sltssy. I can’t see why your sister should 
be tired. She keeps three hired girls, Eve heard 
tell. 

Betsy. {Turns, zvith a ditst-cloth in one hand 
and an ornament in the other) Mm! And she 
wears silk night-gowns, silk all over! 

Mrs. Simmons. {To Betsy) You ain’t let 
down them curtains yet. (Betsy undoes one lace 
curtain, and lets it fall in place, then stands staring 
through the zvindozv at something that interests her 
outside) If that girl could just roll up a silk night¬ 
gown and turn into a human caterpillar, I don’t be¬ 
lieve she’d exchange places'with an angel. 

Miss Slissy. No one expects much of Betsy, 
but I wouldn’t have thought the sister of a good 
church goin’ woman like you would indulge in such 
Babylonian extravagance as silk nightgowns. I 
wear seersucker ones that don’t even have to be 
ironed, and I calculate she ain’t any better’n I be. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Highly indignant) Well, 
whether she’s better than you be or not, my sister 
wears silk stockin’s too, if you want to know it, 
vSairy Applegate Slissy, and has automobiles, and 
spans of horses, and farms she calls country-seats, 
and goes to Europe, Asia or Africy on a day’s 
notice, if the notion strikes her, and if she does it’s 
her own business, and her own money she’s a 
spendin’, and I don’t think you’d better set up 
nights worryin’ about her bein’ Babylonian! 

^Iiss Slissy. {With exaggerated surprise) 
Dear me, to think of your flyin’ off the handle like 
that, just because I was quotin’ Scripture. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 9 

Mrs. Simmons. {Slightly apologetic) I reckon 
I am nervous over gettin’ cleanin’ done so late. 
Betsy, wliat on earth are you starin’ at? 

Betsy. {Turns regretfully from zvindow) The 
hired man. {Lets dozen the other curtain) 

Mrs. Simmons. Good land! Is the hired man 
on all sides of the house at once? 

Betsy, fEagerly turns tozvard zvindozv again) 
I’ll look and see. 

Mrs. Simmons. No you’ll not! Come away 
from that window! (Betsy sighs and turns from 
zvindozv) Land sakes, that girl hain’t no more 
sense of humor than a guinea hen! {Addressing 
Betsy) Go on out in the kitchen and scour up 
them pans I left in the sink. And if you find the 
hired man on that side, ask him to take off his boots 
so you can put ’em on the mantelshelf as an orna¬ 
ment for you to look at. 

Betsy. Ye-es’m. {Exits l.) * 

Mrs. Simmons. For the love of goodness, I be¬ 
lieve she thought I meant it! Ain’t got no more 
sense of humor- 

(Enter Mary Anne c., zvith arms full of flozvers.) 


]\Iary Anne. {Speaking as she enters) Aunt 
Rhoda likes the pink ones best— {Stops, seeing 
Miss Slissy for the first time) Oh, Miss Slissy, 
how do you do? Isn’t it a heavenly day? {Offers 
?\Iiss Slissy a rose) Wouldn’t you like a posy to 
wear ? 

Miss Slissy. {Accepts the flozvcr) Yes, thank 
you. I always think a flower brings out your com¬ 
plexion, that is if you have any complexion to bring 
out, and I always did have considerable, if I do 
say so myself. {Pulls off a rose-leaf, and rubs it 
surreptitiously against her cheek) 

IMary Anne. {Lays part of the ffozvers on the 
table, and arranges the remainder in a vase on the 



10 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


mantelpiece) Dear Aunt Rhoda! I can’t realize 
that in just a little while she’ll be in this very room! 

Mrs. Simmons. Nor me! 

Miss Slissy. {To Mrs. Simmons) Well, 
goodness knows I should think you could, after all 
the fussin’ round you’ve been doin’. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Wipes her forehead zvith a 
corner of her apron) Well, I will say I am about 
ready to dissolve. 

Miss Slissy. You’re lookin’ fair to middlin’, 
iMary Anne, though I can’t say that dress you’re 
wearin’ is real becomin’ to you. That’s one thing 
about that Elaine Jewett that was at Cross Roads 
Inn last summer—she never wore anything that 
wasn’t becomin’. You remember her, don’t you, 
IMary Anne ? 

Mary Anne. Of course. We often met on the 
road and galloped along side by side. Why? 

Miss Slissy. Nothin’ ’cept she and her folks 
are down here for the summer again, only not at 
the Inn this time. 

Mary Anne. Oh, then perhaps we’ll ride to¬ 
gether again! {Holds up a rose zvith an admiring 
gesture) Isn’t that rose just perfect? 

]Miss Slissy. {Slyly malicious) The Jewetts 
are occupyin’ the Barkeley cottage, the whole kit 
and boodle of ’em. Young Barkeley brought them 
from the city in his automobile. 

(IMary Anne, startled drops some flozvers on the 
floor.) 

AIary Anne. Y-young Barkeley? 

Miss Slissy. Yes, and they do say he’s phmi 
crazy about Elaine. Mebbe you’ve heard it. 

Mary Anne. N-no, I haven’t. 

Miss Slissy. Well, it’s so. I saw ’em out to¬ 
gether yesterday, and just one look at ’em tells the 
whole story. I don’t believe in folks actin’ so 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE, ii 


vSpoony in public. Talk about a moonstruck couple! 
Let’s see, how long is it since the Barkeleys quit 
spendin’ their summers here? 

Mrs. Simmons. {Showing that she resents Miss 
Slissy’s inquisitiveness) It’s been more’n three 
years, Sairy Applegate Slissy, but neither me nor 
Alarry Anne is carin’ to have you talk about it. 

Mary Anne. {Proudly) Miss Slissy can talk 
about it all she likes as far as I am concerned, 
mother. Why shouldn’t she? 

Miss Slissy. Why, Mrs. Simmons, you surprise 
me! You ain’t got nothin’ in your mind against 
Bill Barkeley, have you? 

Mrs. Simmons. {Her voice trembling) Noth¬ 
in’ except- 

Mary Anne. {Warningly) Mother! 

Mrs. Simmons. {Impulse overcoming her) 
Except I don’t think he’s as honorable as some 
young men I’ve known. There, I will say that 
much, Mary Anne, even if I do know Miss Slissy’ll 
be sure to repeat it. 

Miss Slissy. {With air of injured innocence) 
Repeat it? The idea of such a thing! Not honor¬ 
able, eh? Well, that’ll interest some folks I know. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Dusting furiously) Oh, I’d 
like to get rid of this dust, and some other things I 
could mention! 

Miss Slissy. Dear me, Mrs. Simmons, I think 
you ought to see a doctor. You ain’t a bit like your¬ 
self to-day. Let me think! Last time I remember 
seein’ Bill, as they all call him, v/as that barn dance 
he gave that first year he was in college. Why, dear 
me, Mary Anne, wasn’t it you he danced with all 
evenin’ while the other girls set round so jealous 
they almost had a fit? Of course it was. You was 
dressed in blue with blue, ribbons, and folks all 
talkin’ about you and him, some even said you was 
engaged, it seems to me. {Maliciously) But if he 


12 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


hain’t been back to see you since— (Pauses inquir- 
ingly) 

Mary Anne. (With dignity) Well, he hasn’t 
Miss Slissy. 

Mrs. Simmons. (Plainly agitated again) 
That’s nothin’ against Mary Anne if he hain’t. 

Miss Slissy. Of course not! I don’t mean any 
offense. Rich young college fellows are apt to trifle 
with country girls that don’t know no better. You 
oughtn’t to have expected him to be serious, Mary 
Anne, even if )mu be the best cake baker anywhere 
around here. Such things don’t count with a man. 
No, it’s just frills and furbelows and nothin’ else. 
That Miss Jewett’s an elegant dresser. She’s en¬ 
gaged me to do some sewin’ for her right away be- 
ginnin’ to-morrow. Shouldn’t be surprised if it was 
weddin’ finery. (Mary Anne, during Miss 
Slissy’s speech, has picked up the flowers left on 
table, and she absent mindedly sticks a rose in the 
top of the lamp-shade) I didn’t know it was the 
style to put flowers in the lamp-shade. 

Mary Anne. (Embarrassed) I—I didn’t notice 
what I was doing. (Hastily removes the rose) 

Miss Slissy. Seems to me you’re lookin’ sort of 
droopy, now that I come to notice it. 

Mrs. Simmons. (Defiantly) No one else says 
so. 

Miss Slissy. (Ignoring the interruption) Get 
yourself a beau, that’s my advice. Ain’t nothin’ like 
a beau to chirk a girl up, though of course gettin’ 
one is easier said than done, and after you get ’em, 
sometimes it’s hard work to keep ’em. 

Mrs. Simmons. Thank you for takin’ such an in¬ 
terest. 

Miss Slissy. Oh, I’m always interested. I think 
kind hearted folks most.generally are. Well, guess 
I’ll be goin’. (Rises) I’ll travel on down the road 
now to collect what the widow Stevens owes me. 
Just because she’s out of work, and her youngest is 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 13 

clown sick, is no excuse for keepin’ me waitin’. Let 
them wait that is more able to afford it, say 1 . In 
a day or two. I’ll call around to visit your sister, 
Mis’ Simmons. 

Mrs. Simmons. Don’t interrupt your sewin’ to 
do it, Sairy Applegate Slissy. If it’s a weddin’, it 
may take all your time and I’d rather you wouldn’t. 

Mary Anne. jM other! 

Miss Slissy. If it wasn’t that your Ma is run 
down and nervous I’d be certain she was takin’ it to 
heart. Bill Barkeley’s throwin’ you over! 

Mrs. Simmons. Well, let me tell you this. Miss 
Slissy. If any man on earth think’s he’s too good 
for Mary Anne- 

Mary Anne. (Desperately) Mother, if you 
PLEASE! 

Mrs. Simmons. Excuse me, Mary Anne, I’m 
goin’ to see if there ain’t some of our vegetables 
that need pullin’ up by the roots. I’d like the exer¬ 
cise. Good afternoon, Sairy Applegate. (Exit c., 
hastily) 

Miss Slissy. (Shakes her head, dolefully) 
Danger of nervous prostration when they get like 
that. (Confidentially) If it is Miss Jewett’s 
weddin’ duds. I’ll let you know, Mary Anne, on the 
Q. T. I’ll let you look at ’em. 

Mary Anne. I don’t care to do things on the Q. 
T., Miss Slissy, thank you. 

Miss Slissy. Well, you and your Ma needn’t 
act so high and mighty even if you have got a rich 
aunt a cornin’ to visit you. Good afternoon. 

Mary Anne. Good afternoon. (Miss Slissy 
sails out c., holding her head very high. Mary 
Anne stands very still, some flowers drooping from 
her hands. Slowly she sinks dozen by the table, and 
bows her head on her arms) 

{Enter Betsy from l. She has a pair of new boots 
in her hands. She places them carefully on the 



14 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

mantelshelf, and stands a displaced picture of 
AIary against them. Then she crosses 

to door L, and stands staring curiously at her 
young mistress.) 

Betsy. You ain’t sick, be you, Miss Mary Anne? 

Mary Anne. {Looks up with a start, and tries 
to smile) Oh, no, just sort of tired, I guess. 

Betsy. Do you want me to pick those Sweet 
Peas you was speakin’ of? 

]\Iary Anne. Yes, and I’ll help you. They’re so 
small it takes a lot of them to make any showing, 
and I want Aunt Rhoda’s room filled with them. 

Betsy. (As she follows Mary off i^.) I can 
ask the hired man to help too, if you want me to. 

(After a short pause, Elaine appears in door c. 
zvhich has been left open. She reaches in and 
knocks on the door, looks around, then knocks 
again. Walks into the room and to door l. 
Knocks, opens it and peeps out, shuts door 
and returns to door c. to summon some one 
outside. She is attired in modish summer 
afternoon gown, with parasol, shoes and hat in 
the very latest style.) 

Elaine, (Steps just outside door and calls off 
R.) Trella, Trella! Come here, dear! (Waits, 
twirling her parasol. Trella appears, and Elaine, 
putting an arm about her, brings her into the room) 
That hill was quite steep, wasn’t it ? 

Trella. (Showing exhaustion) It was almost 
too much for me. Where is everyone? 

Elaine. (Places Trella in chair, and begins to 
fan her zvith a palm leaf fan she has found on the 
table) I couldn’t get any answer to my knock. 
There seems to be no one around. But they’re just 
farmer folk and won’t think anything of our walk¬ 
ing right in. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 15 

Trella. Oh, why should I feel so ridiculously 
worn out? 

Elaine. Whefi the doctor ordered a long tramp 
for you every day, I don’t think he realized how 
weak you were. 

Trella. Weak? I’m just a wisp of a girl. I 
should think you’d get tired of having such a no¬ 
account sister around. 

Elaine. (Stoops impulsively and kisses her) 
You’re everything in the world that I care for, and 
you know it. 

Trella. (Smiling) Don’t forget a certain 
young man from Yale. 

(Elaine with a careless shrug of the shoulders, 
drops into a chair.) 

Elaine. Oh, I like Bill Barkeley well enough, 
but I don’t really care for him! 

Trella. You act as if you cared. 

Elaine. Acting is a part of the game when one 
wants to land a matrimonial prize. No one suspects 
the fearful struggle we girls have to keep up ap- 
jicarances these days. I’ve got to marry money 
whether there’s any love in it or not. 

Trella. If I believed you were half as hard and 
worldly as you try to pretend you are, I think it 
would break my heart. I’ve always looked on my 
sister as the noblest girl alive ! 

Elaine. I’m the most selfish girl alive, 

Trella. No, no, look how good you are to me! 

Elaine. That’s just selfishness too. I’m good 
to you because I want to keep you alive for my own 
special pleasure. I believe in selfishness. It’s the 
only thing that pays. Selfish people are the ones 
that arrive in the long run. Don’t preach anything 
else to me. Look at you for an example of an un¬ 
selfish saint upon earth, and what is your reward? 
Even your health taken away! (Trella gives a 


i6 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 

depressed little sigh, and Elaine notices it) But 
you’re going to get better, you really are better than 
you were. You’re feeling all right now, aren’t you, 
dear ? 

Trella. Oh, yes, after Eve rested a bit. If I 
were sure the people wouldn’t mind, I think I could 
almost drop off to sleep. 

Elaine. {Looks about the room) I wonder 

who- (Stops zvifh a start, then points to a picture 

on the zvall) Why, there’s that quaint picture of 
Mary Simmons’s grandfather! This must be the 
house they were talking about moving into last 
summer. Nice little country girl, she is; no style, 
but nice. Wore such an old-fashioned riding-skirt. 
Well, now I feel quite comfortable about making 
ourselves at home until Mr. Barkeley comes. 

Trella. How will Mr. Barkeley know where to 
stop his car for us ? 

Elaine. I left my scarf out on the hedge. That 
was the signal agreed upon if you and I decided to 
rest anywhere along the way before he overtook us. 

Mary Anne. (Enters door l. Stops in sur¬ 
prise) Why, Miss Jew^et, I didn’t know you were 
here! 

Elaine. I hope you won’t think we were very 
])resumptuous in walking in when w^e found no one 
about ? 

Mary Anne. Of course not. 

Elaine. This is my sister Trella I told you of 
' last summer, the one who isn’t very strong, you 
knowL 

Mary Anne. (Walks forzvard and shakes 
hands zseith Trella) I am glad to know you. 

Trella. We were out for a tramp, and I grew 
very tired and- 

Mary Anne. (Hospitably) Well, I’m glad you 
stopped here for a rest! Shan’t w^e go out on the 
porch ? It’s cooler. See that wide hammock there ? 
I think you might like to drop down in it for a while. 




THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 17 

Trella. Thank you. That does sound attractive 
to me. 

Elaine. (As Trella starts tozvard door c.) 
Then while you’re outside, dear, I’ll have a little 
private talk with Miss Simmons*. 

Trella. (Pauses in doorzvay, looking off l.) 
Oh, but that hammock looks comfy! (Outside, exits 
I--) 

Mary Anne. (Surprised) A private talk with 
me. Miss Jewett ? 

Elaine. Yes. I’ve been wanting it for ever so 
long. Dear me! What a lovely color you have! 
We city owls are such washed-out creatures ! Come, 
let’s sit here on the sofa together. (Mary Anne 
sits on sofa beside her) May I be quite frank with 
you ? 

Mary Anne. Why, yes, of course! 

Elaine. Did you ever happen to meet Mr. 
William Barkeley? 

Mary Anne. (Making an effort at self control) 
Yes, I knew him quite well several years ago, when 
they stayed here summers. 

Elaine. Oh, did you? Then I imagine you’re 
just the one to tell me what I want to know. It’s 
something Dcan’t very well quiz Bill about myself, 
and you may think it a strange question anyhow, 
but can you tell me if there’s anyone around here 
}Jr. Barkeley used to be attentive to in his early 
college days? His chum, Dick Henderson, hinted 
as much. 

Mary Anne. (Rather coldly, hut zvithout self 
betrayal) Why do you wish to know that. Miss 
Jewett ? 

Elaine. Well, before a girl makes up her mind 
to accept a man, isn’t it natural she should wish to 
learn all she can about his former affairs ? 

Mary Anne. (In a lozv voice) I understand. 

Elaine. Then zvas there a girl he was fond of? 

AIary Anne. There was a girl who thought he 


i8 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


was fond of her, but she knows better now, and she 
hasn’t any hold on him, none in the least. There’ll 
never be any scenes or reproaches. I suppose that 
is what you"wanted to feel sure of, isn’t it? 

Elaine. {Smiling brightly) Exactly. ' How 
clever of you to guess! Especially in this- God for¬ 
saken place where one never meets an eligible man. 
I’m rather curious about the other girl. Who was 
she ? •. - • ' 

Mary Anne. {With an' attempt af lightness) 
Oh, now, you can hardly expect niEtb'bHray her 
confidence like that. 

Elaine. But at least you can tell me what she 
was like. 

Mary Anne. You’d call her just a little country 
bumpkin, I suppose. She wore gingham dresses 
and her hair in pigtails, mostly, when he knew her, 
and believed every kind word that was said to her 
as though it were gospel, especially when it came 
from him. 

Elaine. The poor little innocent! Pigtails and 
ginghams, eh? {Turns tozvard Mary Anne) I 
can almost see her before me now. Ha, ha, ha! 
Well, Bill Barkeley has certainly changed^since those 
days. Why, since he’s graduated from Yale and 
entered that law firm in the city, he never takes out 
any but the- most stunningly gowned girls in our set. 
He was very exclusive at college too. He’s ultra 
swell, in fact, belongs to the best clubs, is a star 
athlete, and the girl who gets him for a dancing 
partner has all the others jealous. By the way, 
what became of the grotesque little bumpkin you’ve 
described? I suppose she wound up by marrying 
some farm-hand in overalls and a flannel shirt. 

Mary Anne. I suppose that is what she should 
have done, but she didn’t. She just kept on loving 
her former sweetheart like a little fool, and hoping 

that perhaps some day, somewhere- {Pauses, 

almost overcome by emotion, then continues more 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 19 


calmly) but she’s through with hoping now. Life 
has become quite a jog trot affair with her. She 
doesn’t laugh quite as much as she did in the pigtail 
days perhaps, but outside of that, you wouldn’t 
notice the change in her. 

Elaine. Of course she did not like to lose him. 
A fellow with such loads of money isn’t picked up 
every day even by a city girl, I can assure you. 

Mary Anne. {Indignantly) She never thought 
of his money, not once. If he hadn’t had a penny 
it would have been all the same to her. {More 
quietly) There, I’m getting quite worked up about 
it, am I not? But, you see, the girl was a sort of 
friend of mine. 

Elaine. {Eveing her a bit siispieiously) In¬ 
deed ? ' • 

Mary Anne. Shan’t I get you and your sister 
some lemonade ? 

Elaine. Thank you, but there’ll hardly be time, 
I think. We’re expecting Mr. Barkeley to pick us 
up in his automobile any minute now. 

Mary Anne. {Panic stricken) He—he’s com¬ 
ing here? 

Elaine. Yes. You don’t object, I hope? 

Mary Anne. {Flustrated) Yes—no—that is— 
{Turns away, distressed) 

Elaine. I shouldn’t -think you would. You 
country girls have so few opportunities to meet 
smashing chaps like him. 

IMary x\nne. {Rather bitterly) That’s true, we 
don’t have many, and the men we do meet we don’t 
always understand. But—I shan’t stay to see him. 
Y\Y’re expecting my aunt, and I haven’t finished 
])icking the flowers I want for her room. {Rises) 
You’ll excuse me, I know. 

Elaine. Of course, though it looks quite as if 
you were running away from Mr. Barkeley. 

Mary Anne. {Puts on sun-bonnet) Of course 
I don’t want to seem rude. If he should ask to see 


20 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


me, you can call down to the garden and I’ll come. 
But I—I’m not dressed for company, and I want 
you to promise you won’t call me unless he asks you 
to. 

Elaine. I’m willing to promise that, of course, 
though you look very charming in that sun-bonnet 
—really. 

Mary Anne. Then good-bye, if I don’t see you 
again, but please don’t go until Betsy brings you in 
some lemonade. There’s a big fresh pitcherful in 
the ice-box. I’ll remind her. 

Elaine. Thank you. (Mary Anne exits l. 
Elaine goes to door c. Steps outside and looks 
toward i.. Calls softly) Trella! Trella! {Speaks 
to herself as she re-enters c.) Asleep. Good! 
{Comes before a looking-glass. Produces pozvder- 
puff from hand-bag, and pozvders her face, then 
carefully arranges her hair) 

{Enter Betsy l. bringing on tray containing pitcher 
of lemonade and glasses.) 

Betsy. {Sets tray dozen on table) Here’s your 
lemonade. Miss, just the way he likes it. 

Elaine. He ? Who ? 

Betsy. The hired man. 

Elaine. {As Betsy pours out a glassful for 
her) How refreshing that looks! {Takes a sip) 
And tastes! {The honk of an approaching auto¬ 
mobile is heard) There, I think he’s coming! 

Betsy. No’m, he ain’t. He’s down in the pas¬ 
ture lot. 

Elaine. What “he” are you talking about? 

Betsy. The hired man. 

Elaine. I wasn’t referring to any hired man. I 
haven’t the honor of one’s acquaintance. 

Betsy. Would you like an introduction? 

Elaine. Heavens, no! 

Betsy. He wouldn’t either. He’s just as bash- 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 21 


fill as you are. Miss Mary Anne said to ask you if 
there was anything more I could do. 

Elaine. Miss Mary Anne is very kind, but 
there’s nothing, I believe. 

Betsy. (Slozvly) I think I smell somethin’ 
burin’. (Sniffs) I’m sure I do. It’s that cake I’m 
bakin’ for company. (Turns and crosses leisurely 
to L. draivling her words) Now isn’t that too bad 
after all my work ? (Exits 1..) 

Barkeley. (Comes to door, wears automobile 
attire including cap and goggles) Hah! So here 
we are! 

Elaine. (Brightly) I thought my little signal 
would flag you all right. Come in. 

Barkeley. (Removes goggles, and enters) 
Saw it a mile off! Where’s everybody ? Where’s 
your sister? 

Elaine. “ Everybody ” I can’t vouch for, but my 
sister is dozing off for a minute outside in a ham¬ 
mock. (Pours a glass of lemonade for Barkeley, 
and hands it to him) 

Barkeley. Just in time for my share, eh? The 
Barkeley luck in full operation ! (Drinks) Whose 
house is this, may I ask ? 

Elaine. Don’t you recognize it? 

Barkeley. Never was inside it before, but 
come to think of it, the furniture does look natural, 
and the pictures— (Indicates the one of Mary 
Anne’s grandfather) especially that one. Mary 
Anne Simmons doesn’t live here, does she? 

Elaine. She does, and was here just a few min¬ 
utes before you came. 

Barkeley. (Plainly interested) A few 
moments—before I came? 

Elaine. You look stunned I 

Barkeley. I feel stunned. I hadn’t heard a 
word about their moving. I expected to find her 
living in the old house close to the brook, I in- 


22 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 

tended going there to-morrow. Did you tell her I 
was to call for you? 

Elaine. I believe so—yes, I did. I remember 
now, because she repeated it after me. 

Barkeley. She did? By jove, it will seem 
strange to meet the little girl once more! 

Elaine. Oh, you expect to see her? 

Barkeley. Why, naturally, of course. Doesn’t 
she want to see me ? 

Elaine, {Laughingly) She didn’t act as if she 
did. When she heard you were coming she seemed 
in a fearful hurr}' to get away. Maybe it was on 
account of the way she was dressed. I don’t want 
to make fun of the poor little thing, but that sun- 
bonnet—well, it was simply indescribable ! Ha, ha ? 

Barkeley. {Unheeding the ridicule) She used 
to be so pretty—eyes like violets. 

Elaine. If you want to see the violets again, I 
think I can tell you which way she went, sun-bonnet 
and all. 

Barkeley. No, not when she took pains to run 
away when you spoke of me. I’ll call on her some 
other day. 

Elaine. {Nods in agreement) And I suppose 
Papa will be wondering what has become of Trella 
and me. We really must be going on. 

Barkeley. {Meditatively) Hearing her name 
again and all—it’s like coming back into another 
life! 

Elaine. {Rather sarcastically) Indeed? 

Barkeley. Mary Anne and I used to have some 
awfully good times trotting around together. I can’t 
understand her running away from me. 

Elaine. {Ill naturcdly, hut zvitJi pretense of 
kindness) Why not wait around, then, until she 
comes in? Send Trella and me home in the auto¬ 
mobile, and have it return for you later. The girl is 
really very nice in her absurd little country way. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 23 

{Points to mantelpiece) Look at the parlor 
ornaments ] 

Barkeley. (Surprised) Boots! 

Elatne. In the middle of the mantelpiece. How 
unique! 

Barkeley. But what on earth is the object? 

Elaine. (Picks up Mary Anne’s picture and 
exhibits it, then sets it back against boots) This is 
her picture leaning against them. Of course the 
picture explains it. 

Barkeley. Explains what? 

Elaine. That those boots in such a place mean 
the freak of a sentimental little girl in love with the 
owner.' She places herself at his feet, as it were. 
Ha, ha! 

Barkeley. Nonsense! Mary Anne would never 
do anything as ridiculous as that! 

Elaine. My dear boy, if you had once seen that 
sun-bonnet, you wouldn’t put anything beyond it. 
Besides, now that I come to think of it, I have 
heard she was in love with some country clod-hop¬ 
per or other. I’m not,sure that it wasn’t the hired 
man. 

Barkeley. (Shortly) Indeed? Well, I’m 
ready to go if you are. 

Elaine. Without meeting Mary Anne? 

Barkeley. I don’t want to see her again if I can 
help it. 

Elaine. (Pretending remorse) Oh, I’m aw¬ 
fully sorry if I’ve said anything I shouldn’t 1 I 
didn’t dream you’d ever liked her particularly. 

Barkeley. Well, I did. Of course we were 
both kids when it happened, especially Mary Anne, 
but—well it was really a sort of love affair, until I 
got back to college and Dad put a stop to it. He 
said he didn’t care who I married, but he did ask 
that I would wait long enough to know my own 
mind. He put me on my honor to cut all love 
affairs until after I graduated. That was in my 


24 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Freshman year, so naturally the girl and I drifted 
apart. I didn’t realize until just now how much 
I’d looked forward to seeing her again, but—boots I 
That settles it. (Goes toward door c.) Well I 
have a little tinkering to do at the car, and I’ll wait 
under that tree across the road for you and your 
sister. (Looks fozvard mantelpiece and sighs) 
Boots! (Exits c. and szvings off tozvard r.) 

(Trella comes in front of door from l., looks off 
after him.) 

Trella. (Enters) Why, what ails Mr. 
Barkeley? I was right at his elbow and he didn’t 
see me. 

Flaine. Don’t ask me what ails him, Trella, or 
you’ll put me in a temper. Forgive me, dear, I 
didn’t mean to be impatient with you. Have some 
lemonade before we start. (Pours Trella a glass 
of lemonade) Oh, why can’t you get some color 
into those pale cheeks ? 

Trella. Are they so pale? Out there just now 
I saw a little white flower blooming in the shadow 
of a big rock, faded and fragile for want of sun¬ 
shine. It made me think, somehow, of my illness 
as a great rock too, standing betv/een me and the 
sun. (Holds Elaine’s hand caressingly against her 
cheek) But maybe some day a good fairy will 
come along and push the rock away, then how I’ll 
bloom and bloom! You’ll see. 

Elaine. My precious little sister! I don’t de¬ 
serve such an angel as you are in my life. Perhaps 
that is why I have you. It’s mostly the undeserv¬ 
ing that draw the prizes. I’ve noticed. (The honk 
of an aiiiomohile is heard) There, that’s for us! 
Come, dear. 

Trella. (Rises) I had the strangest dream 
while I was dozing off out there. I saw you having 
your wedding things made to marry Bill Barkeley. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 25 


Elaine. That’s rather a bad sign I believe. 
Besides it’s premature, sister mine. He hasn’t yet 
done me the honor to propose, and in the last 
few minutes I have, begun to doubt— {Honk is 
repeated) What man ever had the patience to wait 
when he himself was ready to start? Come! 
(Elaine and Trella exit c.) 

(Betsy peeps in front door l., then speaks back.) 

Betsy. Yes’m, they’re gone. {She enters, fol¬ 
lowed by Mrs. Simmons. Mrs. Simmons has put 
on her “ company ” dress, and looks very spick and 
span) 

Mrs. Simmons. I ain’t objectin’ to company, ex¬ 
cept when it’s the company you aint looking for, 
then it’s upsettin’. Mary Anne said I didn’t need 
to come in and speak to ’em, seein’ as I was in a 
hurry to get dressed. Straighten them chairs 
around, Betsy. I wonder why Rhoda don’t come. 

Betsy. {Sloivly pulls a chair across the floor) 
^laybe the train’s late. 

Mrs. SimmOxNS. {Half to herself) Strange that 
the Jewett girl should turn up here right after what 
Miss Slissy told us about her! 

Betsy. What did Miss Slissy tell you? 

Mrs. Simmons. I wasn’t talkin’ to you, Betsy, I 
was talkin’ to myself. As for askin’ what Miss 
Slissy says, there ain’t much that she don’t say 
sooner or later, especially if it’s somethin’ she don’t 
know anything about. {Suddenly catches sight of 
the pair of neiv boots on the mantelpiece) For the 
land sakes! What on earth are them boots doin’ 
there ? 

Betsy. {Starting to defend her actipn) Why, 
you told me- 

Mrs. Simmons. I didn’t do nothin’ of the sort— 
yes, I did too, but of course without meanin’ it. 



26 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Just suppose my sister from New York should have 
got in before I noticed ’em! 

Betsy. You told me- 

Mrs. Simmons. {Raises a boot as if to fling it 
at Betsy, and frightens her into silence) Don’t 
keep on savin’ what I told you. You aint got no 
more sense of humor than a turkey gobbler a gob¬ 
blin’ when he sees the axe a cornin’. Take ’em on 
out of here, and tell the hired man that if he turns 
out as foolish as you be, he gets his walkin’ papers 
and gets ’em quick. 

Betsy. What’s walkin’ papers? 

Mrs. Simmons. Pretty soon you’ll get yours, 
if you don’t watch out, and then you’ll know. 

Betsy. {Holding out the boots and looking at 
them) He’ll be glad to get these again. He didn’t 
want to take ’em off at first, but I told him he must 
because you wanted ’em in the parlor. {Starts ton¬ 
ward exit L.) 

Mrs. Simmons. Come back here, and take away 
these. {Indicates pitcher and glasses) 

Betsy. Y^e-es’m. {Picks up tray zvith pitcher 
and glasses, and drops a boot. Starts to pick up 
boot, and drops the other one. Sets down tray, and 
puts both boots under one arm. Picks up the tray, 
and drops both boots at once. Finally gets under 
zvay, and exits zvith all the articles) 

Mrs. Simmons. {Has taken her stand by the 
zvindow, and turns to speak as Mary enters) Well, 
I’m glad you got your dress changed. Wonder if 
your aunt could be cornin’ by automobile instead 
of the train. I heard one honkin’ up the road, I 
thought. 

Mary Anne. {She wears a pretty but simple 
zvhite dress) I’ll run down to the gate and see. 
{Starts for door c. Meets Mrs. Henry Tate 
Kirkland entej'ing. Mrs. Kirkland wears motor- 
coat, bonnet and veil and presents an up-to-date ap- 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 27 

pearance) Oh, you dear aunt Rhoda! {Flies to 
e^nbrace her) 

Mrs. Simmons. Why, you stole a march on us! 

(At c. Mrs. Kirkland’s maid enters, carrying a 
suit case, umbrella ete., and stands azvaiting 
orders from her mistress.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Still holding Mary Anne in 
her arms, kisses Mrs. Simmons, then begins to 
smooth her niece's hair) Just the same Sweet Mary 
girl as ever, only sweeter! 

Mrs. Simmons. (Smilingly) Beginnin’ to spoil 
her before you’re in the house two seconds! 
(Starts for door l.) Though she is the best girl in 
the world, I ain’t denyin’. (Calls) Betsy! 

Betsy. (Off 'l.) Ye-es’m! 

Mrs. Kirland. (Puts Mary Anne azvay from 
her at arm's length, and scrutinizes her anxiously) 
Amanda, what ails our IMary Anne? She doesn’t 
look like her bright self at all. 

Mrs. Simmons. Mebbe she’s been studyin’ too 
hard. Take off your things, Rhoda. (Enter 
Betsy l.) Betsy, help sister off with that coat. 
( Betsy does so) 

Mrs. Kirkland. (To Betsy) Then you and 
Felice go out and help James bring in that small 
trunk, three bags, my other maid, two dogs and the 
golf-sticks. Take them all around the back way. 
I’m sick of lugging the machinery of civilized exist¬ 
ence along with me cverywliere I go, and intend to 
see just as little of them as possible while I am here. 
(Felice sets dozjun belongings, and exits after 
Betsy c. and off r.) I came down to Farmdale for 
a rest, and to go buggy riding with Mary Anne. 
(Smiles tozvard Mary, zvho remains rather serious) 
Whatever is troubling you, child ? Now you needn’t 
say it is nothing, for I felt it the moment I came 
into the room. 


28 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Mary Anne. I am feeling just a little downcast 
over—something, but I didn’t mean to show it. 

Mrs. Simmons. I think that Jewett girl a callin’ 
here is what upset you. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Why, was that Elaine Jewett 
I saw in the Barkeley gray machine ? Her veil was 
flying so I couldn’t quite make out. 

Mrs. Simmons. Yes, it was, and as for young 
Barkeley himself- 

• Mary Anne. (Interrupts, imploringly) Mum- 
sey, dear! Please don’t talk any more about him. 
Oh, why did you tell Miss Slissy you didn’t consider 
him honorable, when you know she’s the worst 
gossip in the town? She’ll repeat that everywhere, 
and people will begin to suspect we were engaged, 
and to question me about it, and I didn’t want any¬ 
one to know. 

Mrs Kirkland. (Much surprised) You were 
engaged to young Barkeley, and never wrote to in¬ 
form me? Why not, Mary Anne? 

Mary Anne. Oh, we made a sort of childish 
compact to keep it secret—1 don’t know why. 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Gratified) The Barkeleys of 
New York stand very well indeed, socially. The 
young man is considered a great catch. I’ve seen 
him at a number of debutante dances. I wondered 
what he was doing in this village. So he’s here on 
your account, is he? 

Mary Anne. Indeed no. Auntie. He’s forgot¬ 
ten all about me, but I didn’t care to have every¬ 
body find it out. I’ve a little pride left. 

Mrs. Simmons. I reckon he thought Mary didn’t 
have enough style for him, and was beneath him. 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Fairly bristling with indigna¬ 
tion) You don’t mean to tell me, Amanda, that any 
young man has had the effrontery to jilt my niece? 

Mary Anne. (With a tinge of bitterness) You 
mustn’t forget. Aunt Rhode, that he is Mr. William 
Barkeley of New York and Newport. 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 29 

Mrs. Kirkland. Neither do I forget that I am 
I\Irs. Henry Tate Kirkland of New York and Lenox, 
and that you are my niece. 

JMary Anne. Perhaps it was natural that he 
should grow tired of me. 

Mrs. Kirkland. I don’t permit people to grow 
tired of my niece, 

Mary Anne. But you see I never said anything 
to him about my aristocratic relatives in New York, 
I didn’t dream then that family or dress could make 
a difference with a man, if he really loved a girl, 
but I can see now how it might. When I think of 
Elaine Jewett’s appearance and contrast it with my 
own, I realize how hopelessly countrified I am. 
Fie likes fashionably dressed girls; she said so, the 
kind he meets at dances and proms. Look at me, 
with my brown face and arms and country^made 
dresses, while Miss Jewett has Paris hats and gowns, 
and beautiful shoes, and exquisite laces, and does 
herself up in powders and rouge and perfume! 
What chances has jffain little me against all that sort 
of thing? 

Mrs. Simmons. Anyhow, she ain’t as smart as 
you are. Professor Saunders says when you get 
.started, there ain’t a finer conversationlist in Farm- 
dale. 

Mary Anne. When I get started—that’s just it. 
But when it’s anybody that counts. I’m so shy I grow 
dumb as an oyster. Elaine Jewett, I’ve heard, can 
keep a dozen admirers entertained at once. 

Mrs. Kirkland. I know the Jewett family like 
a book, my dear. George Jewett was an old beau 
of mine. They all have the gift of the gab, but 
George was always money mad, and the oldest girl 
is just like him. I might have suspected that she 
was making up to Willy Barkeley. 

Mary Anne. {Continuing with increased agita¬ 
tion) Mary Anne! Mary Anne! I suppose he 
thinks even the name is out of date and ridiculous. 


30 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE, 

while Elaine is beautiful and poetic. I had the idea 
that if I read and -studied and kept up with him 
mentally all I could, perhaps I could hold him, that 
that was the important thing to do, but it wasn’t. I 
know it wasn’t, since I’ve seen her. I’m homely, and 
dow'dy, and lonesome —{Chokes emotionally, and 
turns azvay) 

Mrs. Kirkland. My dear, the reason you im¬ 
agine you care for Willy Barkeley is because you’ve 
never seen anyone else. 

Mary Anne. No, no, it isn’t that. I cared for 
Bill because—because— (He si tates) 

Mrs. Kirkland. Well? 

Mary Anne. Well, just because he was Bill! 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Dryly) Dear me. I’m afraid 
it’s a bad case! And to think I’ve just been globe¬ 
trotting around, all wrapped up in my own selfish 
pleasures, and never dreaming what was going on 
here! 

Mary Anne. But, Auntie, even if you had 
known, you couldn’t have helped me any, nobody 
could. 

Mrs. Kirkland. If you’ve had your heart broken 
by that young cub since I’ve been away. I’m going 
to make it my business to see that the break is 
mended. There’s no reason why you couldn’t win 
him back again, if you want him. 

Mary Anne. (Passionately) I don’t, I don’t, 
with his heart belonging to some one else! He’s 
hers, hers, all hers! 

Mr. Kirkland. How do you know he is ? 

Mary Anne. From the things she told me; the 
questions she asked. 

Mrs. Kirkland. She’s not engaged to him. 

Mary Anne. How do you know she isn’t? 

Mrs. Kirkland. Because the Jewetts are so 
ambitious socially that if Elaine had pulled off an 
engagement to Willy Barkeley, nothing could pre¬ 
vent her from megaphoning it to the whole wide 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 31 

M'orld. What did the young man say when he wrote 
to break off with you? 

Mary Anne. He never wrote breaking it off. 
He left that to me to spare my pride, I suppose, but 
somehow I could never summon up courage enough 
to write and tell him all was over between us. I 
was afraid it was all over when he didn’t come 
back that vacation after his freshman year, yet I 
kept hoping against hope somehow, that some day 
he’d seek me out after all, and care for me just the 
same. But when he did come back at last—to-day 
—after these months and years of waiting, it was 
only in the trail of another girl. I don’t suppose he 
meant to be cruel, but all along to keep sending me 
college notices of dances and concerts, when he 
didn’t think enough of me to write me, was as 
though I were a little mouse which he wanted to 
drown, but didn’t quite have the courage to do so, so 
he only half drowned me instead. But I’m drowned 
now, all right. It’s been slow, but I’m drowned. I’m 
drowned! {Bozt's her head on her arms, and begins 
to sob) 

(Mrs. Kirkland and Mrs. Simmons look at each 
other, then at Mary Anne, and dry their 
eyes in sympathy.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. Don’t cry, dear. No man’s 
worth it. (Sniffs loudly, and uses handkerchief) 

Betsy. (Appears in door l.) That foreign 
French girl wants to know—- 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Interrupts her) Well, you 
tell her and all of them, including the dogs and golf- 
sticks, not to unpack anything, because I’m going 
away from here the first thing in the morning. 

Mary Anne. (Protestingly) Aunt Rhoda ! 

Betsy. (Laboriously) You mean that you want 
me to tell her that you are going to go away from 
here before you really got here, is that it ? 



32 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 

Mrs. Kirkland. Approximately, yes. 

Betsy. {Turns to Mrs. Simmons) Any orders 
for the hired man? 

Mrs. Simmons. {Irritably) Yes, tell him that 
I give him two weeks’ notice. 

Betsy. {First aghast, then defiant) I’m afraid I 
can’t find him. {Exits l.) 

Mary Anne. {To Mrs. Kirkland) Surely 
you’re not going to let my little trouble drive you 
away. I promise to brace up and be cheerful after 
this. Mother, make her stay. 

Mrs. Simmons. I’ll kill the best chicken on the 
farm for your dinner to-morrow, Rhoda, and we’ll 
have old fashioned apple-dumplings. 

Mrs. Kirkland. I’m not hearing a word either 
of you are saying. I’m too busy with my own 
thoughts. Mary Anne, run up to your room and 
pack every stitch you possess ready to start off with 
me to Narragansett Pier to-morrow, on the early 
morning train. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Amazed) What are you talk¬ 
ing about, Rhoda? 

Mary Anne. But Auntie I have no suitable 
clothes for such a place! 

Mrs. Kirkland. They’ll do until we find some 
others that are. What a hardened old sinner I’ve 
been! Here I am without a chick or child in the 
world, and more money than is good for me, and 
I’ve let time drift by, thinking that some day I’d 
give you your chance when I g(^t around to it, and 
forgetting that there’s never a better time to do the 
things we should do than right now. 

Mrs. Simmons. But your nerves,'sister ? You 
said you were all run down, and needed rest. 

Mrs. Kirkland. I was mistaken. It isn’t rest I 
need, it’s excitement. 

Mary Anne. What do you mean. Auntie? 

Mrs. Simmons. What sort of excitement? 

Mrs. Kirkland. The excitement of backing our 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 33 


Mary Anne against Elaine Jewett, and seeing which 
one will come out ahead. 

Mary Anne. (Amazed) Why, Aunt Rhoda! 
Mrs. Kirkland. (With determination) Yes, 
Mary Anne! 

Mary Anne. (Delightedly) Oh! 

(Rushes into Mrs. Kirkland’s arms. Mrs. Sim- 
• MONS smiles zuith sympathetic delight.) 


ACT II. 

Time: —Winter of the follozving year. 

Scene : — Sitting-room in Mrs. Henry Tate Kirk¬ 
land’s Nezv York home. Doors r. and l. 
Windozv at r. Long sofa up c. Arm-chair at 
R. near small stand. Small desk at l. Chairs 
and other furnishings ad lib. Four fancy band¬ 
boxes are stacked up on the sofa. 
DISCOVERED : —Mrs. Kirkland’s maid ushering 
in Miss Slissy at l. 

Miss Slissy. (Takes a card from her hand-bag, 
and gives it to the maid) When Mrs. Kirkland gets 
through seein’ who it is, you can bring that card 
back to me if she ain’t noticin’. 

(Maid, repressing a smile, bozvs and exits. Miss 
Slissy, after much arranging of attire, takes a 
seat. She looks about zvith undisguised ctirios- 
ity, and is especially interested in the band- 
boxes. Yielding to temptation, she runs over 
and lifts the lid of one of the boxes, and, after 
a hasty peep, runs back to her seat in the fear 
of being detected. Plucks up courage, and re- 



34 the blossoming OF MARY ANNE. 

turns to look into the second and third boxes. 

Has just lifted lid of fourth box, ‘ivhen Mrs. 

Kirkland enters l. and eatches her at it.) 

Miss Slissy. {Clears her throat, and tries to 
assume a eareless manner) Pretty coverings to these 
boxes. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Looks at AIiss Slissy through 
her lorgnette, then at the visiting-card in her hand, 
then back to IMiss Slissy) Miss Sarah Applegate 
Slissy, I believe? 

IMiss Slissy. {Gushingly) Yes, Mrs. Kirkland. 
How do you do? 

AIrs. Kirkland. You came with the hats I 
ordered ? 

Miss Slissy. No, I was just lookin’ at ’em on my 
way to the winder. I’m from Farmdale, the dress¬ 
maker there. I reckon you’ve heard your sister 
speak of me. She’d ought to mention me very 
favorable after all the fuss I had turnin’ her old 
black dress, and though I do say it as shouldn’t, I 
never was paid half for that dress what I deserved 
to be. 

IMrs. Kirkland. I presume my sister paid you 
all you asked. 

IMiss Slissy. Y/ell yes. I always was too easy 
goin’ for my own good. And she might have added 
a little present. Do you mind tellin’ me if them 
beads are real or imitation you’re a wearin’? 

IMrs. Kirkland. All my jewelry is real. 

Miss Slissy. Well, there’s no question but that 
the least deservin’ in this world sometimes gets the 
most. Would you mind givin’ that card back to 
me ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. What? 

IMiss Slissy. Visitin’ cards, especially when you 
have the town barber print ’em by hand like I did— 
look at them flourishes—is expensive. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Returns card) There it is 
Miss Slissy, I hope you’ll find it uninjured. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 35 


jjiliss Slissy. Well, there’s a little crack across 
the corner, but I hope no one will notice it, maybe. 
(Points to a picture on the wall) Would you mind 
tellin’ me if you bought that picture at one of them 
boardin’-house auction sales? I was readin’ in the 
newspaper the other day a good many people 
furnished their houses that way. 

Mrs. Kirkland. I never attended an auction sale 
in my life. Err—was your visit here for anything 
especial ? 

Miss Slissy. Well, I thought I might as well 
take a squint at the city styles and find out some of 
the news, so long as there was an excursion up 
from Farmdale half fare. Is Mary Anne to home? 

Mrs. Kirkland. She is, but very busy. 

Miss Slissy. Helpin’ in the kitchen, eh? Well, 
I suspected it! As I was tellin’ Miss Brown yester¬ 
day, rich folks expects their poor relation to pay foy 
their keep some way or other every time, and Mary 
Anne must be pretty good help now'—bein’ with 
you ’bout a year. 

Mrs. Kirkland. My niece is not needed in the 
kitchen. 

Miss Slissy. She’s chambermaid, then. I’ll bet a 
doughnut ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. Since you insist upon details, 
I will tell you that Mary Anne is kept busy w'ith her 
studies and social duties. She’s taking a French 
lesson just now. Later she has her dancing lesson. 
Later she goes into the hands of a hair-dresser and 
manicure. Then w'e take in an afternoon tea, with 
dinner at the Biltmore, and the opera to follows 

Miss Slissy. For the land sakes! And she used 
to be teacher in the Sunday School! Well, you tell 
her for me she’d better forsake such frivolities an’ 
come home right aw'ay, her Ma ain’t w^ell. 

Mrs. Kirkland. I think you’re mistaken about 
that. I had a letter from my sister this morning 
saying she never felt better in her life. 


36 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Miss Sltssy. \Vell, all I know is that when I was 
sayin’ to her yesterday that I didn’t s’pose Mary 
Anne would ever be the same girl she was before 
Bill Barkeley jilted her, she answered me so snappy 
I could just see her nerves was givin’ way. Any¬ 
how, Mary Anne hain’t no business stayin’ up here 
with things goin’ on the way they are to Farmdale. 
Why, durin’ that storm last week, the rain broke 
through her poor Ma’s roof and spiled the ceilin’ of 
the spare-room, and she’s got to have the roof 
shingled over again. 

Mrs. Kirkland. You think Mary Anne might 
have spread herself out on the roof and kept the 
rain from coming.through if she’d been home? 

Miss Slissy. Not exactly that, of course, but— 
well, it’s makin’ lots of talk. Ain’t you goin’ to send 
for Mary Anne? 

Mrs. foRKLAND. I’m sorry, but her French lesson 
is too important to be interrupted. 

Miss Slissy. Well, be sure and tell her from me 
that the neighbors think it’s strange, and me too, that 
a jilted girl like Mary Anne- 

Mrs. Kirkland. I will certainly tell her neither 
what you nor the neighbors think. She wouldn’t 
be interested. 

Miss Slissy. Since you take it like that, next 
time I come to the City I shan’t call on you nor 
Mary Anne either. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {With icy politeness) Perhaps 
that would be wiser. 

Miss Slissy. Though maybe it’s just your way. 
Would you mind my lookin’ into that last hat-box 
before I go, seein’ I’m here for styles ? I saw all the 
others. {Makes her way to hat-boxes, and flings 
ojf the lid of the fourth one, examining the hat 
zvithin closely) I s’pose three of ’em’s for you, and 
one for Mary Anne, maybe? 

Mrs. Kirkland. They’re all for Mary Anne. 



THE BLOSSOMING OF ]\IARY ANNE. 37 

' Miss Slissy. Whatever ’ll she do with four hats 
$it once ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. She never wears more than two 
at the same timev 

Miss Slissy. Do you mean to tell me she wears 
a couple of hats on her head a^ once? 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Calmly) I said she never 
wore more than two. 

Miss Slissy. {Disconcerted, and suspecting that 
Mrs. Kirkland is making game of her) Well, I 
don’t understand city folks’ ways, nor their talk, 
either one, and I’m mighty glad I don’t live here. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Yes, I think we all have much 
to be thankful for. 

Miss Slissy. Now that’s the first thing you’ve 
said that sounds natural and makes me feel at home 
since I came here. It’s just like what our preacher 
says a visitin’ round among his flock. “ We all have 
much to be thankful for,” he says. Too much, I 
should think he’d think. He has ten children now, 
goin’ on eleven. Well, I reckon I’ve got to start for 
the station, if I expect to catch that train that gets 
me to Farmdale before night. Good-bye. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Good-bye. I hope you’ll have 
a pleasant journey home. 

Miss Slissy. Thank you, I hope so. {Turns in 
door) Tell Mary Anne when folks are too busy to 
see their old neighbors, it’s a pretty good sign they’re 
goin’ off on their looks and can’t bear to have it 
known. Good-bye. {Exits l.) 

(Mrs. Kirkland replaces the lid on band-box. 
Mary Anne peeps in from r., then enters. She 
is exceedingly zvell-groomed, and ivears a dainty 
house-gozvn.) 

Mary Anne. Oh, Auntie, I came so near walk¬ 
ing right in—and then her voice stopped me. Who¬ 
ever would have dreamed of her coming here? 


38 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

She’s tormented poor Mama with questions about 
me ever since I’ve been away. I’m afraid if I had 
seen her I’d have said something they’d never print 
in books on “ How to be polite.” 

?',Irs. Kirkland. I knew what an infliction she’d 
be to you, dear, otherwise I’d have sent for you. 
How are the French lessons coming on? 

Mary Anne. {Laughingly) Oh, marvelously. 

T can say “ What color is the hat of my father ” so 
well that Monsieur Le Blanc almost understands me. 

i\lRS. Kirkland. And your music? 

Mary Anne. Yesterday the Professor suggested 
a silencer for my piano, so I’m sure I’ve begun to 
make an impression. 

AIrs. Kirkland. And the dancing? 

iMARY Anne. I trod on the dancing master’s toes 
only six times in that last new step he was teaching 
me. 

Mrs. Kirkland. You’re so modest that you al¬ 
ways belittle your own accomplishments, dear, but 
you vron the silver-mounted crop in that contest at 
the riding academy yesterday. 

3.1 ary Anne. That was no credit to me. Auntie. 
I’ve known liow to manage a horse ever since I was 
a little tot so high, and I love it, I love it 1 Even 
the conventional canter through the Park with the 
groom tagging after me so close that he takes all the 
fascinating danger away. .But oh, how I used to love 
the riding at home, when my mount was a wild, 
half broken colt with the spirit of youth and reck¬ 
lessness in his blood! That rush down the long 
level road, the wind blowing in my face, my hair 
tumbling down my back, my heart keeping time to 
the rhythm of his leaps—oh it was glorious, glorious ! 
{With quick change) Not that I’m not happy here, 
auntie, and enjoying every new experience! I’ll 
never forget all you’ve done for the crude, awkward, 
homely little country girl I was when I came to you. 

3Irs. Kirkland. You may have been a trifle 


THE BLOSSOMING OF IMARY ANNE. 39 

Crude and awkward, but I deny that you were ever 
homely. Everyone says you resemble me. You 
were a bit dowdy in your dress, and no wonder, with 
that brainless Miss Slissy in charge of the dress¬ 
making. A fev/ pretty hats and gowns have done 
away with all that, but you don’t make as much of 
your beautiful hair as I’d like. Stand off there, and 
let me look at you. 

IMary Anne. (Suiting the action to the zvord) 
Shall I turn stiffly around like a wax figure with a 
perpetual smile in a corner show-window ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Critically) Hm! We must 
improve a bit on the hair before I introduce you to 
my friends next week. They’re all wondering why 
I haven’t allowed my mysterious young guest to go* 
out in society since we came back from Washington, 
but I wanted to make sure you were going to have 
perfect poise, perfect command of yourself, even 
when— ( Pauses ) 

Mary Anne. Yes? 

Mrs. Kirkland. Even when we run across 
young Barkeley somewhere, a thing bound to happen 
sooner or later. 

jMary Anne. (On a hassock at the knee of Mrs. 
Kirkland) Oh, Auntie, I begin to tremble even at 
the mention of his name! I’ve tried so hard to get 
over caring for him, and maybe when I meet him 
again I’ll know I have gotten over it, but—but—I’m 
so afraid I haven’t! I ought to have more pride 
I know. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Now don’t spoil your pretty 
eyes with tears, my dear! I’m ready to chaperone 
you to all the nice places where you’re likely to meet 
the one man in the world that’s intended for you, 
whether he’s Willy Barkeley or some one else. If 
you don’t find your happiness somewhere, it won’t 
be my fault. 

Patty. (Appears in door l.) Confessing your 


40 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

* . 

sins, Mary Anne? (Mary and Mrs. Kirkland rise 
zvith pleased exclamations) Look who’s here! 

Mary Anne. Why, Patty Cloverleaf, where did 
yon come from? 

-Patty. From Washington, on the special parlor- 
car limited! 

Mrs. Kirkland. But your mother said when I 
was leaving Washington with Mary Anne, that your 
family wouldn’t follow for at least two months. 

Patty. Mama never knows what we’re going to 
do until I tell her. I run the family, you know. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Casting her eyes heavenward) 
The modern girl! 

Patty. Anyhow Washington was lonesome as 
•the catacombs without Marion, and besides, Charlie 
became fractious. 

Mary Anne. Meaning what? 

Patty. Meaning jealous. Accused me of staying 
on there just for the fun of making googoo eyes at 
Washington celebrities. As if I ever did such a 
thing! At least, he never caught me at it. But 
there are always such stacks of girls waiting around 
for the chance to console a jealous man, that I 
thought Pd better come home and interrupt the pro¬ 
ceedings, and I did. The proceedings was his 
stenographer. He’s getting a new one to-day. One 
not so sympathetic—also older. By the way, 
Marion, Charlie tells me the fraternity boys are all 
looking forward to meeting you when they give 
their dance at Elaine Jewett’s next week. 

Mary Anne. Oh, Patty, but why should they? 

Patty. Because your fame as a howling, raving 
heartbreaker has traveled all the way from Wash¬ 
ington. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Laughingly) Well, I 
promised to be a patroness, I know, but not to bring 
anyone with me. 

Patty. My dear Mrs. Kirkland, they’ll fairly 
mob you if you dare leave Marion at home. She’s 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 41 

to be quite the special feather in Elaine Jewett’s 
social cap. Elaine said she had never met Marion, 
but had sent an urgent invitation for her to accom¬ 
pany you. 

Mrs. Kirkland. So she did. 

Mary Anne. {Shrinking) Oh, but Auntie, if it 

is to be at Elaine Jewett’s house- 

Patty. (As Mary Anne crosses to windozv) 
But you’ll find T\Iiss Jewett very charming, Marion, 
and besides, you know how I’ve wanted all of 
Charlie’s Yale friends to meet you. They’re all such 
fine fellows too. There’s Mr. Henderson—he has a 
crooked nose, but a lovely disposition—and Mr. 
Miller, the famous Football-coach, and that adorable 
Bill Barkeley—Elaine looks upon him as her special 
property, by the way, so beware!—and then there’s 
Teddy Farnum! Teddy ! Once seen, never for¬ 
gotten ! And there’s Mr. Boyd- 

(A loud crash of glass is heard outside. Mrs, 
Kirkland and Patty start up.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. Oh, what’s that? 

Patty. Sounded like a window-pane struck by a 
bomb. What was it, Marion ? Did you see ? 

Mary Anne. (At zvindow, speaks rather faintly) 
Yes, some one’s automobile crashed into the lamp- 
post in front of our door. 

(Mrs. Kirkland and Patty hasten to the zvindozv 
as Mary leaves it, staggering slightly as she 
does so.) 

Patty. (Looks from zvindow, speaks hack ex¬ 
citedly) The policeman has picked up a child. 
She’s frightened, but doesn’t seem to be hurt. Why, 
I declare that’s my Charlie’s car! And there’s the 
creature himself ! He’s supporting a man across the 
sidewalk! 




42 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Mary Anne. The man was thrown out when the 
automobile struck—I saw him fall. ^ 

Patty. Bill Barkeley, as Fm alive! Oh, maybe 
Charlie will be arrested for speeding, and Mr. 
Barkeley too, and locked up in cells until they’re 
bailed out, and all those other horrid things that hap¬ 
pen if you get in the hands of the law. And they’re 
such horrid hands. I’m going to run right down and 
see what’s happened. {Exits l.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Anxiously, to Mary Anne) 
Why, dearie, you look as if you had seen a ghost! 

Mary Anne. That’s just the way I feel. Bill 
Barkeley—after all these years. He was running 
that car himself, and turned straight into the side¬ 
walk to keep from hurting a child, risked his own 
life when he did so. Just the sort of thing he would 
have done in those old days when I thought him the 
best and bravest boy on earth. The other man 
helped him to his feet, but he may be hurt, even so. 
Oh, if I could only go to him! I niust go to him— 
(Starts tozvard l. Mrs. Kirkland restrains her) 
Mrs. Kirkland. No, dear child, and I wouldn’t 
have him meet you for worlds while you’re like this. 
He’d see at once that you still cared for him. We 
don’t want that to happen, Mary, do we ? 

. Mary Anne. (Turns hack, ashamed of herself) 
No, no, not for worlds, of course. Forgive me, 
Auntie. But why couldn’t he have changed? Why 
did he have to look just the same, seem just the 
same as before he went away and forgot me? And 

oh. Auntie, if he should be really hurt- 

Mrs. Kirkland. Sh! I hear voices in the hall. 
I believe Patty’s having them bring him in! 

Mary Anne. (Panic stricken, flies to her aunt 
for protection) Auntie, oh. Auntie! 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Takes Mary Anne by both 
arms and tries to quiet her) Good gracious, child, 
don’t act like this. Run to your own room and try 
to calm yourself! 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 43 


Mary Anne. You’ll tell me how he is? You’ll 
promise to let me know if it’s anything serious? 

Mrs. Kirkland. Of course I will, though it’s 
nothing to 3^ou, remember that! 

Mary Anne. T do remember that it’s nothing to 
me, of course—nothing, nothing. Oh, Auntie, it’s 
everything! (Rushes off r.) 

Patty. (Heard off l.) I will help you along, 
Mr. Barkeley, whether you want me to or not. 
Now, don’t be foolish about it. (Patty and 
Charles Mason betiveen them help Barkeley into 
the room) 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Turning a chair to receive 
him) Well, well, Mr. Barkeley, what have you been 
trying to do ? 

Barkeley. (Wabbly, but plucky) It’s all non¬ 
sense, their making such a fuss, Mrs. Kirkland. 
(Drops into the zvaiting chair) It’s just a little crick 
in my shoulder from landing on it when I hit the 
pavement. 

Mason. You landed on your head too, old scout. 
I almost heard your brains explode! 

Patty. I suppose that horrid policeman would 
have followed us right in if they had. 

Mason. He wanted to see if we needed him. 

Patty. (Gets a pillozv off sofa) I’d just as soon 
need a dentist as need a policeman. They always 
look to me as if they were just pining to take some¬ 
thing to jail. (Puts pillozv behind Barkeley’s 
head) There, how do you feel now? 

Barkeley. Comfortable, thanks, and—absurd. 
It’s a shame to intrude on you like this, Mrs. Kirk¬ 
land. Charlie, it’s a shame. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Nonsense! What are houses 
for if it isn’t to give shelter to our friends when 
they need it? 

Mason. Mrs. Kirkland has spoiled all us boys 
with so many kindnesses, that she mustn’t be sur- 


44 the blossoming OF MARY ANNE. 

prised if we take advantage of it sometimes. And 
it all happened right before her door. 

Mrs. Kirklandd. {To Barkeley) Wouldn’t 
you like a cup of tea or coffee to steady your nerves, 
^r brandy in hot water? 

Barkeley. No, I’m positively O. K. Really, I 
am! Best of all, we didn’t harm the kid. The little 
mite was fairly bumping into us before I saw her. 
I’ll never forget her scared look! 

Patty. Marion saw you when you struck. 

Barkeley. Who—saw me ? 

Patty. Marion—Mrs. Kirkland’s niece. She 

was looking from the window when it happened. 

Barkeley. Pardon me for asking you to repeat 
the name. I thought at first you said Mary Anne. 
I used to know a little girl called Mary Anne. 

Patty. {Not knotving Marion’s real name) 
Country sort of a name. 

Barkeley. She was a country girl. 

Patty. {Turn to Mrs. Kirkland) Where is 
Marion now, by the way ? 

IMason. Yes, where is she? I’d like to get ahead 
of the other fellows by being the first to be in¬ 
troduced. 

Mrs. Kirkland. So sorry to disappoint you, 
Mr. Mason, but Marion was a bit upset from seeing 
the accident, and I sent her to her room. 

Barkeley. Please tell her, Mrs. Kirkland, that 
the accident amounted to nothing, and that there 
was no occasion for her to distress herself. No one 
was hurt. Please telLher no one was hurt— {His 
head falls hack, and he is seen to be unconscious) 

Patty. {Alarmed) Mr. Barkeley! Mr. 
Barkeley! {Turns to others) Oh, what’s the mat¬ 
ter with him ? 

Mason. Here, Bill, look up! He’s gone a bit 
woozy from striking on his head. Barkeley, come, 
get a grip on yourself! 

Patty. We ought to ’phone for a doctor. 


THE BLOSSOIMING OF MARY ANNE. 45 

IMrs. Kirkland. The is right there in the 

hall. (^Indicates door l. and starts tozvard door r. 
herself) And Ell get brandy, or smelling salts, or—• 
or something. (Exits r.) 

Patty. What doctor shall we call ? 

IMason. None. He’d never forgive us for mak¬ 
ing all that fuss over him here. I’ll find the butler, 
and we’ll get him down into my car. 

Patty. No, I’ll find the butler while you see 
whether your old automobile will work or not, after 
trying to remove the sidewalk. 

{They exit together, he declaring the automobile is 
' all right and she expressing doubts of it, etc., 
making a mixed excited chatter as they disap¬ 
pear off L. Door opens r. and Mary Anne 
peeps in. Looks to see that Patty and Mason 
are out of sight, then runs softly down to 
Barkeley, eyeing him anxiously. She touches 
his hand very lightly, and then, seeing that he 
does not move, drops on her knee by the side of 
the chair, and for a moment rests her cheek 
against his hand.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Heard off r.) I thought I’d 
never find those smelling salts! (Mary Anne starts 
up and backs azvay from Barkeley confusedly. 
Enter Mrs. Kirkland r., and stops in amazement 
on beholding her niece) Mary Anne! 

Mary Anne. (Piteously, excusing herself) I— 
I couldn’t help coming in, when I saw he was alone. 
Why did they go and leave him all alone ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. We decided to ’phone for a 
doctor, and he was perfectly safe here. (Looks at 
Barkeley —and as she does so Jie moves his head 
very slightly) There, he’s coming to! 

Mary Anne. Is he? Oh! (Dismayed, for fear 
Barkeley may catch sight of her, runs from room) 

Mrs. Kirkland. Do you hear me speaking to 
you, Mr. Barkeley? 


46 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Barkeley. (Dreamilyy zvithont opening his eyes) 
The same sweet girl! 

Mrs. Kirkland. What? (Starts back) 

Barkeley. The same— (Opens his eyes, and 
stares stupidly at Mrs. Kirkland) Oh, I thought 
it was someone else! (Drops his head hack, and 
closes his eyes. Mrs. Kirkland puts phial of smell¬ 
ing salts under his nose. He sits up, shozving dis¬ 
taste for it, speaks chokingly) What’s that— 
dynamite ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. Smelling-salts. I thought they 
would revive you. 

Barkeley. They did. (Feels scalp) Is the top 
of my head still on? Where’s Mason? 

Mrs. Kirkland. He and Miss Cloverleaf will be 
back in a minute. 

Barkeley. Was some one here—a moment ago 
—not Mason or Patty—but (Dismissing the idea) 
of course not! I must have imagined it. 

Mrs. Kirkland. You went unconscious for a 
minute! 

Barkeley. Why couldn’t I have stayed so? 

Mrs. Kirkland. What? 

Barkeley. I—I mean .1 must going. (Gets to 
his feet) 

Patty. (Speaks outside, and zvhile she is enter¬ 
ing at L.) Where does the butler stay? I couldn’t 
find him — (Stops short on seeing Barkeley stand¬ 
ing up) Oh, but you’re all right again, aren’t you? 

Barkeley. Of course I am. What’s all the ex¬ 
citement about ? Where’s Charlie ? 

P.\TTY. Limbering up the car, and talking to a 
reporter between whiles. You’re going to be in the 
papers. That’s what you get for standing on your 
head on the sidewalk. I asked him to put me in 
instead, but he wouldn’t. And as I’m not an 
acrobat, I couldn’t insist. (Turns to Mrs. Kirk¬ 
land) Charlie will be up to get him in a minute. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 47 

B.^rkeLey. Am I a sort of parcels-post package 
to be called for ? 

.Patty. Maybe you aren’t, Mr. Barkeley, but you 
looked like one a few minutes ago. 

Barkeley. My apologies for taking up so much 
of your time, Mrs. Kirkland. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Nonsense. Life would be very 
dull if nothing unexpected ever happened to take up 
one’s time. But I hope there’ll be no bad after¬ 
effects from your fall. 

Barkeley. There won’t be. I’m sure. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Gives him her hand) Next 
.month we’ll be at home on Friday afternoons. I’d 
like you to meet my niece. 

Barkeley. Thank you. I’ll remember. {Bozvs 
07 ^er her hand^ crosses to door l. and zvaits for 
Patty) 

Patty. {To Barkeley) Please go ahead, and 
tell Charlie to wait, and I’ll be down in just a minute. 
(Barkeley bozvs and exits l. Patty turns to Mrs. 
Kirkland) You’ll excuse me for rushing off, won’t 
you? I want a look at Charlie’s new stenographer 
before the day’s over—to see if she’s homely enough 
to be permanent. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Laughs) Patty, you’re incor¬ 
rigible! {Steps to R. and calls) Marion! 

Mary Anne. {Enters from r.) Yes, Auntie 1 

Mrs. Kirkland. This little butterfly thinks she 
must go. 

Mary Anne. Oh! I’m sorry! I’m all right now, 
not a bit nervous—do stay! 

Patty. {As Mary Anne gives her her hand) 
I can’t my dear, and anyhow your hand still 
trembles. There’s a surprise waiting for Mr. 
Barkeley when he gets down to the door. Mrs. 
Kirkland, Elaine Jewett was passing just now in 
her runabout and stopped to ask Charlie what the 
excitement was. When she found out, of course, 
she blew up a tire and remained. Her get-up is 


48 THE BLOSSOMESTG OF MARY ANNK 


simply stunning. Who would ever think her father 
was on the ragged edge of bankruptcy to look at 
her? 

Mrs. Kirkland. What’s that? George Jewett 
in difficulties? 

Patty. (Nods) Charlie says it’s known all over 
Wall Street. Well I hope the crash doesn’t come 
before Elaine gives that fraternity dance. It would 
put a stop to eveiwthing, wouldn’t it ? Elaine 
wouldn’t take very kindly to poverty and the simple 
life, would she? I don’t blame her. Can’t see any¬ 
thing picturesque about it myself. (Automobile 
honks outside) That’s for me. Charlie never be¬ 
lieves me when I say I’ll only be a minute, and be¬ 
gins to signal. (Runs to windozv) Wonder if I 
can make him look up. (Peeps out. Laughs) 
Guess I won’t try. Miss Jewett is insisting on Mr. 
Barkeley’s climbing into the runabout, and I might 
interrupt and be anathema forever. (Peeps again) 
There, she’s got him! Acts as if she owned him. 
Maybe she does. I’ll see you both soon again, soon 
and often, I hope. Good-bye. (Waves her hand, 
and rims off l.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. Patty! Patty! Wait, dear, I 
want to send a message to your mother! (Follozvs 
Patty off l.) 

Mary Anne. (Peeps from zvindozv, steps back 
from it zvith hand to heart. Goes to chair and looks 
at it as if thinking of its late occupant. Kneels again 
in her former position, zvith her cheek against arm 
of chair. Speaks zvith the utmost pathos and tender¬ 
ness) Bill! Bill! (Bozvs head, so that her face iS' 
hidden) 


CURTAIN. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 49 


ACT III. 

Time:— A week later. Evening. 

Scene: —An ante-room in the home of Elaine 
Jewett. The fezv pieces of f urniture are in the 
best of taste. At extreme r. there is a small 
desk with chair. Up R. near c. there is a table 
containing punch-bowl and glasses. At l. c. a 
sofa. Tzvo small chairs are stood against the 
wall to be out of the way of dancers. 
DISCOVERED: —Patty and Mason, Henderson 
and Elaine: dancing. The hall is fdled with 
dancing couples, as many as desired, and they 
pass the doorzvay c. at frequent intervals. 
Music is heard from off l. 

Elaine. {Comes to a halt and begins to wield her 
fan) There, I believe Tm tired! 

Henderson. I was just beginning to strike my 
pace. You’ll save the supper dance for me, Elaine? 

Elaine. {Shrugs her shoulders) Sorry, but I’ve 
already promised it to Mr. Barkeley. 

Henderson. I hoped I was getting ahead of him 
for once. 

Elaine. Now don’t look so glum about it! Go 
find that pretty Rose Davies in there. She’s just 
dying for you to notice her. 

Henderson. I wouldn’t mind being relegated to 
the background for Barkeley if he cared for you the 
way I do, but- 

Elaine. You assume then that he doesn’t care? 
That’s not very complimentary to me. 

Henderson. I have to say what I think is true, 
Elaine, whether you regard it as complimentary or 
not. There, I see I’m growing tiresome, so I’ll go 



50 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

find Miss Davies as you suggest. (Bows ceremo¬ 
niously, and exits c.) 

(Trfxla comes in from r. in semi-evening dress.) 

Elaine. (Speaks, as Trella is entering) Oh, 
Trella, Em furious. 

Trella. What has happened? Did the caterer 
disappoint you? 

Elaine. No, nothing like that. Mr. Henderson, 
just now,‘brought it home to me that Bill Barkeley 
is making me appear ridiculous, an object of pity, 
by holding off from presenting me with that diamond 
ring Eve hoped for, and it has given me a sort of 
fright. Suppose I should lose out after all, and 
some other girl capture the Barkeley fortune in¬ 
stead ? 

Trella. (Reproachfully) Oh, Elaine! You 
know in your heart it’s Air. Henderson you care for 
and not Bill Barkeley. 

Elaine. But Barkeley is the man with the 
money! 

Trella. (Shrinking azvay from her sister) 

Elaine 1 

Elaine. There, dear, don’t look so shocked. Em 
quite fond of Bill on his own account, really I am. 
There, we won’t talk about it any more, you angel! 
Are you sure you felt well enough to come down¬ 
stairs ? 

Trella. Yes, indeed. Aly tiresome headache is 
almost gone. (Watches the dancers pass door c.) 
How happy everyone looks! And what beautiful 
dancers some of those girls are! It’s nice to be 
down here where I can see them. 

Elaine. Oh, Trella, I can’t help feeling bitter 
every time I think of how other girls can dance, and 
play tennis, and do everything they like, while you 
are only able to sit and look on, taking no part in it 
all I How can you bear it? 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 51 


Trella. (Sits ill chair in front of desk, and opens 
it as she talks) Because, while they dance, I can 
think about my work. If my little book only turns 
out to be the sort of one that will make other people 
forget their handicaps too, and fight to be cheerful 
and brave, just “ looking on ” won’t be time wasted 
after all. 

Patty. {Bounces in from l. Her gozvn is very 
diaphonons, with liberal display of neck and arms, 
as far as good taste veill permit) And how is the 
rising authoress this evening ? 

Trella. {Smiling) The descending authoress, 
you mean. I’ve just come downstairs. 

Elaine. {As she starts for door c. speaks back 
over her shoulder) Isn’t she looking well, Patty? 
{Exits c. and off l.) 

Trella. x^nd how is Miss Patty Cloverleaf ? 

Patty. If my health were any better, I simply 
couldn’t stand it. My vitality is so intense that it 
annoys me. How do you like my gown? {Turns 
about for inspection) Do you think it’s too ex¬ 
treme ? 

Trella. You can wear anything, Patty. 

Patty. Oh, but how successful am I at wearing 
nothing? That’s the thing that counts. Now that 
you have taken to writing for the public print, why 
not describe my marvelous lack of costume at 
length ? 

Trella. But I haven’t tried to do newspaper 
work, you foolish girl! Perhaps I should have be¬ 
gun more modestly, but it’s a novel. See? {Holds 
tip a manuscript from desk) 

Patty. An honest-to-goodness novel? You 
wonderful creature! If I even attempted such a 
thing, I know I should perish of brain-storm. 
{Turns and addresses Henderson and Barkeley, 
entering l.) Fellow citizens! What do you think 
is going on here right under our eyes? The con¬ 
struction of a real, uplift novel? 


52 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Henderson. Is that so? 

Trella. Patty, you little tease, who wants to hear 
about books at a dance? 

Barkeley. Why, we all do. Miss Jewett! We 
can dance any old time, but it’s an event when you 
give us the pleasure of your society. 

Trella. It is seldom that I get to see my friends 
all together, never going outside to dances. 

Barkeley. I’ve heard your sister speak of that 
coming book so often. 

Patty. Confidentially, what thrilling event are 
you writing about at this moment ? 

Trella. {Fingers her Mss. with trembling 
hands) Oh, you’re all just pretending an interest, 
I know, but now that I have you here at my mercy, 
it is a temptation to talk about my story. I’ve 
reached the place where my hero meets his sweet¬ 
heart of bye-gone days at a dance, and finds that he 
loves her just the same. It moves along quite 
nicely there, but back in chapter two, my villain is 
too feminine, I know he is ! I wanted him to write a 
cold, brutal letter to a girl he’d grown tired of, and 
I couldn’t make it sound like anything but a lady 
schoolteacher scolding a naughty-pupil. I wonder 
if one of you boys wouldn’t just take a pencil and 
scribble something off for me in that line, so I could 
catch the masculine style of it ? 

Barkeley. Well, if you’ll let me see the letter 
as you had it, to get a general idea of what you 
want. I’ll make a try at it. 

Henderson. That’s more courage than I’ve got, 
Barkeley. 

Trella. Then if you’ll just sit down at my 
desk— (Barkeley does so. Trella leaning to 
point out place in the Mss. she lays before him) 
There it is. You see, he’s been making love to two 
girls at once, and he hears that the poor little coun¬ 
try girl he’s engaged to has grown desperate and is 
coming to the City to look him up. So he deter- 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 53 

mines to stop her if he can. {She places a zvritmg- 
pad before^ Barkeley) 

Barkeley. {Slamming a pencil down on desk) 
There—I broke the point of that pencil, first lick. 

Henderson. Good start! 

Barkeley. {Gets pen from tray) But here’s a 
fountain-pen, and someone is going to get drowned 
if he begins to guy my attempt to be useful. 

Trella. Just let yourself go and begin to scrib¬ 
ble, and the words will come, I know they will. 

Barkeley. Here’s where I’m the villain and 
break her heart. {Begins to write. Gets stuck) 
Hm! {Reverses pen and presses the end of it 
against his forehead) “ Come all ye spirits that 
tend on mortal thought! ” 

Patty. Which is as much as to say “ Go, all ye 
mortals that stand around and interfere with our 
inspiration,” Mr. Plenderson, you and I are check¬ 
ing the operations of Mr. Barkeley’s genius, I know 
we are. 

Henderson. Then come along to the music- 
room and give me a lesson on that Giraffe Glide you 
were dancing a while ago. 

Patty. I’ll be delighted. {They start up tozvard 
c.) The glide’s so awkward it’s, horribly popular 

{They exit c. and off l.) 

Barkeley. {Who has been scribbling busily) 
How’s this? 

Trella. {Takes up sheet of paper on zvhich he 
has been writing, and reads aloud) 

Dear Girl— 

I understand you are coming to the city, and I 
suspect it may be in the hope of meeting me. In 
order to avoid any misunderstanding in case this 
happens, will say frankly that I never loved you, 
and my intentions toward you were never serious 


54 the blossoming OF MARY ANNE. 


for one moment. Should we meet, you will oblige 
me by ignoring the past as completely as I intend to 
do. 

Yours very truly, 

William Barkeley.” 

Fine! But you needn’t have signed your name. 

Barkeley. {Laughing) Of course not, but I 
was so carried away by my own eloquence that I 
did it without thinking. Pretty bad attempt, I call 
it. Shall I tear it up ? 

Trella. Indeed you’ll not! It’s just the sort of 
beginning I want, and I can piece it out beautifully. 
Thank you so much. 

Barkeley. {With playful pomposity) Thank 
you for the distinguished honor of permitting me 
to assist you. (Gets up and makes exaggerated 
hozv) 

Henderson. {Appears in door l.) I don’t like 
to interrupt this literary session, but your sister was 
inquiring for you just now. Miss Jewett. Wants 
you to meet some new arrival with Mrs. Kirkland, 
I believe. 

Trella. I’ll come right away. I know my 
masterpiece will be safe here on the desk with two 
gallant gentlemen to guard it. {Places script on 
desk and exits l.) 

Henderson. {Advancing) Ever meet Mrs. 
Kirkland’s niece? 

Barkeley. No, but from all I’ve heard about 
her, I think I should like to. Somebody .said she 
had violet eyes. My first little sweetheart had violet 
eyes. 

Henderson. The one you used to rave about 
when you were a freshman? 

Barkeley. {Nods) The same. 

Henderson. You called her Alary something-or- 
other, didn’t you ? 

Barkeley. Yes, Mary Anne. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 55 

Henderson. Ha, ha, ha! 

Barkeley. {Taking offense) What are you 
laughing at ? Have I said anything funny ? 

Henderson. Oh, no, old chap, no offense in¬ 
tended. It was just the way you said Anne through 
your nose, you know, like that “ Anne.” 

Barkeley. There’s nothing funny about the 
name itself, though. Anne’s is pretty. Queens have 
been named that. 

Henderson. Yes, yes, of course. Er—the Mary 
Anne queen has no strings on you now, has she ? 

Barkeley. Haven’t seen her in years, and the 
last I heard of her she was in love with somebody 
else. 

Henderson. Then if no other girl has a claim 
on you, why do you play fast and loose with Elaine 
Jewett the way you do? 

Barkeley. Confound it, Henderson, you’ve no 
right to speak to me like this! 

Henderson. That isn’t answering my question. 

Barkeley. East and loose with Elaine Jewett? 
Why, you’re crazy! She looks upon our friendship 
as purely Platonic; she’s said so'often. 

Henderson. Well, no matter how you look upon 
it, it’s up to you either to propose or get out of the 
Avay of other chaps who—well, who thinks of her 
without any Platonic tag attachment whatever. 

Barkeley. Meaning-? 

Henderson. Yours truly. 

Barkeley. By jove, Henderson, I never sus¬ 
pected it. Well, why didn’t you say so before? 
Ours has been a pleasant friendship, of course, but 
a fellow has no right to monopolize a girl’s time just 
because she’s kind enough to allow it. If I’ve been 
standing in your way, I’m sorry. 

(Offers his hand. Henderson takes it.) 

Teddy. (Enters from l. and rushes up to Hen- 



56 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 

DERSON and Barkeley) Well, say. Talk about a 
stunning- doll-baby and a queen, the Washington 
debutante heads them all! She’s a regular raving- 
beauty, and, believe me, Teddy is some judge! Her 
clothes just shout Paris. Everything about her is 
fully four leaps ahead of New York right now. 
R-un along in there and get busy kow towing to her 
chaperone, or there won’t be a dance left for either 
of you and you’ll be disgraced, strictly out it! 

Henderson. There’s your chance, Barkeley, to 
meet the girl of the Violet eyes. Come on! {As 
Barkeley turns away) Why, what’s the matter? 

Barkeley. Now that I’m on the brink, the 
thought of meeting her gives me stage fright. I 
don’t know why it should, but it does. 

Teddy. Come on! We’ll see that nobody hurts 
you! 

(Teddy and Henderson between them drag 
Barkeley ojf, he protesting not yet/' "" zvhy 
not zoait awhile/' etc. As Teddy and the others 
exit L., Patty and Mason come on at c. from 
L. in hall.) 

Patty. And what do you think of the new star 
in the firmament? 

Mason. Next the twinkler addressing me, I 
think she’s the brightest ever. 

Patty. Oh, you needn’t make any exceptions! 
I’m just remote star-dust compared to the sparkle 
of Marion. Didn’t I prophesy the hit she would 
make among the men of Yale? 

Mason. {In impressive monotone, holding up 
his right hand) I solemnly aver that you did. By 
the way, now that we are alone, and with no in¬ 
quisitive Columbus at hand to discover us- 

Patty. {As he approaches her) Now don’t ask 
me for a kiss—it disturbs my complexion. 

Mason. I wasn’t going to. Last time you came 
off on my coat. 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 57 

Patty. Then for once I made a visible impres¬ 
sion on someone. Well, what’s the dark secret? 
Turn on the flashlight. 

Mason. Did you notice the way Elaine Jewett 
acted in there when she got her first glimpse of 
Miss Marion Simmons? 

Patty. No, how did she act? 

Mason. As if she’d been struck by lightning, 
but remained standing up because she didn’t know 
she’d been hit. 

Patty. Why, that sounds as if they might have 
been rivals or something in the past. But that’s im¬ 
possible ! This is Marion’s first season in society. 

Mason. There’s an untold story back of that 
meeting just the same. 

Patty. Oh, you’re always doing this amateur 
detective work, Charlie. I wouldn’t mind if it ever 
turned out for anyone’s benefit. 

Mason. It does, sometimes. Didn’t you tell me 
a little while ago that you were thirsty? 

Patty. I did, and do. 

Mason. {Tragically) Then hist! Hither! 

Patty. Where ? 

JMason. To yon table, where my keen detective 
sense locates a punchbowl. 

Patty. {As he drags her up to table) Hurry 
and ladle some of it out. There goes my favorite 
waltz. 


{Aliisic sounds softly from off l.) 

Mason. {With extravagant ceremony and ges¬ 
tures) As a ladler, I’m a Lulu! 

(Patty partakes of the punch. Mrs. Kirkland, 
Mary Anne and Barkeley enter c. Mrs. 
Kirkland and Mary Anne are both exquisi- 
tively attired.) 


58 THE BLOSSOAIING OF MART ANNE. 

Mrs. Kirkland. (As Patty and Mason exit l. 
dancing) Pm afraid you’ll have to excuse my niece 
from this dance, Mr. Barkeley. She must sit out 
one occasionally, I insist. 

Barkeley. (Eagerly) Then may she sit it out 
with me? (As Mrs. Kirkland pretends to hesi¬ 
tate) Your niece and I are old friends, you know. 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Turns to Mary Anne with 
well feigned surprise) Indeed? You should have 
mentioned your early acquaintance, my dear. 

Mary Anne. (Lightly and indifferently) But 
it was such a long, long time ago, when we were just 
boy and girl. It’s strange Mr. Barkeley should re¬ 
member it. 

Barkeley. Well, I like that! Four years isn’t 
quite a life time, you know. I remember distinctly 
just how you looked the first time we ever met. 
You wore a funny little dress that didn’t fit, and 
your hair w^as all tumbled about your face. You 
haven’t changed a particle. 

Mary Anne. (With a mischievous smile) 
Auntie, do you realize what Mr. Barkeley is saying? 
That my dress is funny and doesn’t fit and that my 
hair needs combing? 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Laughing) Really, Mr. 
Barkeley, there’s nothing like frankness I 

Barkeley. (Confused) Oh, I didn’t mean that, 
you know I didn’t. I’m so surprised at meeting her 
here that I hardly know what I’m about. You have 
changed, Mary Anne, iiwfully. 

Mary Anne. (Smiling as before) Sorry that 
the change is awful. 

Barkeley. (Still more confused) In your 
looks, I mean. You used to be pretty. 

Mary Anne. (Laughing) And now I’m not. 
Thank you. 

Barkeley. I didn’t say that. You used to be 
merely pretty, I meant, but now you are beautiful. 
That’s what I tried to say. I—I never felt so awk- 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 59 

ward in my life. You see, Mrs. Kirkland, I can’t 
quite get over finding that your niece is the same 
little girl that I- 

Mrs. Kirkland. Excuse me, but Eve just re- 
meiubered some word our Tea Club president asked 
me to give Isabel Slocumb. Ell go speak to her be¬ 
fore I forget it. {Exits l.) 

(Mary Anne crosses to sofa l. and. sits, indicating 
zvith fan that Barkeley is zjuelcome to a seat, 
beside her.) 

Barkeley. (As he takes seat beside Mary 
Anne) It seems so strange meeting you again, 
sitting here beside you. Let me fan you. (Reaches 
for her fan, then stares at her, fascinated, fanning 
himself) 

Mary Anne. (As the situation grozvs embarras¬ 
sing) It is quite warm this evening. 

Barkeley. (Sees zvhat he has been doing and 
hastily begins to fan Mary Anne instead) I beg 
your pardon, Em rattled. Mary Anne, little Mary 
Anne, can this be really you? 

Mary Anne. (Solemnly) Why, I think so, Mr. 
Barkeley; yes, Em quite sure of it. (Barkeley 
forgets and fans himself again, then remembers 
zjuith a start, and fans Mary Anne) You were 
saying ? 

Barkeley. So I was ! What was it ? 

Mary Anne. Perhaps we’d better finish this 
dance. 

Barkeley. And spoil these wonderful, bewilder¬ 
ing moments ? Oh, no ! I don’t know yet whether 
I just imagine them, or whether they’re true. How 
have you managed to take your place as a belle and 
a beauty, and yet remain the same little girl I knew 
so long ago? 

Mary Anne. Really, I don’t feel in the mood 
for personalities, Mr. Barkeley. 


6 o THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Barkeley. I beg your pardon. Of course 
you’re not the same little girl after all. I had no 
right to expect you would be. But a man’s got to 
speak out if he’s human, when he meets the girl who 
was his first little sweetheart, and finds that the 
bud has blossomed into a beautiful rose. 

Mary Anne. (Rises) Such flattery ! 

Barkeley. (Rises) Flattery? 

Mary Anne. (Starting azvay) And I’m grow¬ 
ing impatient to dance. 

Barkeley. I meant every word of it. 

Mary Anne. (Turns quickly, and speaks lightly 
hut zvith a tinge of bitterness) Men always do for 
the moment. I’ve heard. 

Barkeley. How you have changed! You al¬ 
ways were the dainty sort of creature that made 
a man feel as if he was all hands and feet, but so 
gentle and kind! A fellow just talked his heart 
out to you before he knew what he was about. That 
last dance we went to together, the wild roses along 
the road coming home, and the moonlight so bright 
it was all like day! Doesn’t our meeting like this 
recall it to you, Mary Anne ? 

Mary Anne. Yes, wasn’t I ridiculous? 

Barkeley. Ridiculous? Why, what on earth 
do you mean? 

Mary Anne. (With a light self-mockery) I 
took it all so seriously. 

Barkeley. (Earnestly) Well, why not? 

Mary Anne. (With amused sarcasm) Oh, Mr. 
Barkeley 1 Ha, ha, ha! 

Barkeley. Don’t laugh. It hurts. 

Mary Anne. Why, one would almost think you 
had been serious yourself. 

Barkeley. I was serious. I acknowledge you 
did grow a bit dim in my mind after we stopped 
writing- 

Mary Anne. “ We,” did you say? 

Barkeley. (Hastily) I’ve always wanted to 



THE blossoming OF MARY ANNE. 6 t 


explain that. Dad thought we were too young, both 
of us, to know what we really wanted, and said if 
I’d promise to drop our correspondence and wait 
until I was through college- 

Mary Anne. {Betraying interest in spite of her¬ 
self) Your father asked you to do that? 

Barkeley. Yes, and I gave in because I thought 
a few years or a thousand wouldn’t make any dif¬ 
ference with us. I meant to come back to you when 
my probation was up. I suppose I can hardly make 
you understand why I didn’t. 

Mary Anne. \Coldly) No, I’m afraid you 
can’t, and, after all, why should you trouble your¬ 
self to try? 

Barkeley. {Impulsively) Because I’m crazy 
about you all over again! {Starts toward her, but 
she runs azvay from him) Mary Anne, little Mary 
Anne, can’t we go back to where we were? 

Mary Anne. {Shakes her head sadly) I’m 
afraid not, Mr. Barkeley. 

Barkeley. {With sudden fierce jealousy) 
Does—Boots—stand between us ? 

Mary Anne. {Amazed at the question) What? 

Barkeley.' Boots—the man you were in love 
with—engaged to—a year ago ? 

Mary Anne. I never met—Boots—I don’t know 
what—Boots—^you’re talking about. I was not en¬ 
gaged a year ago to—Boots—and I never expect to 
be. 


(Elaine appears unseen in door l.) 

Barkeley. Thank heaven for that much at least 
Oh, Mary Anne, I’ve been a fumbler and all kinds 

of an idiot, I see it now—but- 

Elaine. {Smilingly interrupts, walking tozvard 
them) I beg pardon. (Barkeley and Mary 
Anne start apart) I was looking for my sister. 
Didn’t she pass through here just now? 




62 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Mary Anne. I hardly think so. 

Barkeley. I’m certain she didn’t. Shan’t we 
finish out this dance, Miss Simmons? 

Mary Anne. If you like. 

{They dance off c., and off l. in hall. As they dis¬ 
appear Elaine, with an angry exclamation, be¬ 
gins to pace up and down. Trella comes f rom 
L. and sees. her. Watches her a moment in 
silence, and then speaks anxiously.) 

Trella. What on earth is the matter, Elaine? 
I slipped a-way to follow you as soon as I could. 
What were you so nervous about? What made 
you rush from the room the way you did? 

Elaine. Because I wanted to see if my sus¬ 
picions as to what was going on out here were 
correct, and they were. I found them together. 

Trella. Found whom? 

Elaine. Bill Barkeley and Miss Marion Sim¬ 
mons, who, as you know, turns out to be none other 
than that sly little puss we knew in Farmdale as 
plain Mary Anne. 

Trella. (Crosses to desk and picks up her Adiss., 
including the letter Bill Barkeley zvrote for her) 
Well, what of it? 

Elaine. What of it? Never in all his life has 
Bill looked at me the way he looked at her. Almost 
fell at her feet when he recognized her! He even 
forgot he had asked me for this dance. I know 
now how a gambler must feel when he stakes every¬ 
thing on one throw of the dice and loses. Oh, but 
she shan’t come between me and all I’d hoped for! 
She shan’t! 

Trella. Sh! Somebody might hear you. Do 
try to be calm, dear. If anyone saw you pacing up 
and down like this, what would they think? 

Elaine; (Unheedingly) Look what she used 
to be—a frumpy little country bumpkin, a nobody ! 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 63 

Now, she’s an acknowledged beauty, her social posi¬ 
tion better than mine, her gowns more beautiful. 
Why, it almost seems as if that aunt of hers had 
worked this out on purpose to torment me! And to 
think Bill Barkeley could be turned from me so 
easily! 

Trella. Elaine, it’s your pride that’s hurt, not 
Amur heart, and you don’t know what Lloyd Hen¬ 
derson might accomplish in the world if you’d only 
be a little kind to him. He worships you. Why 
must it be Bill Barkeley ? 

Elaine. (Passionately) Why? Simply be¬ 
cause if it isn’t, we’re beggars ! 

Trella. (Shocked) Sister! Why, what on 
earth do you mean ? 

Elaine. I mean that just a few minutes ago I 
was called to the ’phone and learned from father’s 
OAvn lips that the firm has gone to the wall. To¬ 
morrow the news of his failure will be in all the 
papers. 

Trella. (Dazed) Father—has failed? 

Elaine. Oh, it isn’t the surprise to me that it is 
to you! I suspected what it meant when he re¬ 
mained at his office night after night instead of 
coming home to us, and from conversations I’ve 
caught over the ’phone. He’s been on the down 
grade ever since that slump in copper. 

Trella. Poor old Daddy! Oh, we must do all 
we can to cheer him. And you and I can still be 
happy even if we haven’t much money, so long as 
v/e have him. 

Elaine. Happy? You don’t know what you’re 
talking about. There’s no happiness without money. 
Those who pretend there is are just going around 
deceiving themselves and the world. Imagine doing 
without Paris gowns, giving, up one’s maid, selling 
one’s box at the opera to pay one’s rent! I’d rather 
be dead! And to think we have to go on smiling 


64 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 

and chatting with our guests in there as if this terri¬ 
ble thing had never happened! 

Trella. Elaine, sister, it’s only a tragedy if we 
make it so. 

Elaine. Oh, what a child you are not to realize 
the meaning of this calamity! I’ll bring Bill 
Barkeley to time now, or die in the attempt. Why, 
how strange! 

Trella. (As Elaine points to the letter she is 
holding in her hand) What? 

Elaine. That I should notice something there 
in Barkeley’s handwriting just as I mentioned his 
name. What is it ? 

Trella. Oh, nothing much! (Hands it to 
Elaine, who scans it zvhile she talks) It’s just a 
letter I have use for in my novel. I asked him to 
write it to help me out with a difficult spot in chap¬ 
ter two. 

Elaine. But it reads like a real letter, signed 
with his name and all ? 

Trella. It isn’t, though. Give it to me, dear. I 
want to pin it to my manuscript. 

Elaine. I’ll attend to that for you and leave it 
on your desk. One of us must go back to the draw¬ 
ing-room, and I want a moment or two to myself. 
(Keeps letter and takes Mss. from Trella) 

Trella. I’ll go, Elaine, dear, take all the time 
that you like. (Exits l.) 

(Elaine, left alone, again reads the lines written 
by Barkeley, shows that it has suggested to 
her a plan of action. She crosses to desk and 
lays the Mss. upon it Then, as if reaching a 
sudden decision, drazvs a blank envelope to- 
zvard her. She spreads out the Barkeley note 
and it becomes apparent that she is trying to 
copy the handzvriting for the superscription on 
the envelope. Having completed her task, she 
puts the letter inside the envelope and seals it. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 65 

Just as she does so', Henderson steps in from 
c. and speaks from across the room.) 

Henderson. I don’t blame you at all. 

Elaine. (Gives a guilty start and turns facing 
him, holding the sealed envelope behind her) 
Blame me for what? 

Henderson. For preferring your own solitary 
society to that of the rest of us. 

Elaine. (Relieved) Oh! (Very sweetly, al¬ 
most caressingly) Would you like to do me a little 
favor, Lloyd ? 

Henderson. V/ould I? As if I didn’t just stand 
around waiting for her Majesty to wave her wand. 

Elaine. (Tapping the palm of one hand with 
the envelope she is holding in the other) I wonder 
if you couldn’t contrive somehow to separate 
Marion Simmons from her Aunt and bring her out 
here for a moment. I’ve heard something I want 
to tell her, in confidence. 

Henderson. Well, if the fellows are still buz¬ 
zing about her the way they were, it will be about 
like attempting to carry off Helen from Troy, but 
I’m willing to try. (He sees Mary Anne and 
Teddy enter the hall from l. and stand chatting 
outside door c.) Unnecessary. There she is now. 

(Elaine turns and sees Mary Anne, then speaks 
hastily under breath to Henderson.) 

Elaine. Then contrive to drag Teddy away 
after a minute or two, and keep him as long as you 
can. (Goes up tozvard c.) Oh, Mr. Farnum, do 
bring Miss Simmons in for a glass of punch. The 
evening has grown so sultry. 

Mary Anne. (Gratefuly) Something cool 
would be very refreshing. 

Teddy. (As he and Mary Anne enter c.) Fine 
suggestion, Miss Jewett. That punch is all to the 


66 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


good. I sampled it a while ago. Allow me. (Gets 
behind howl) 

Elaine. (As Mary Anne seats herself on sofa 
L.) I’ve hardly had a chance to speak with you a 
moment since you came, Miss Simmons. (Seats 
herself beside Mary Anne. Teddy fills two glasses 
with punch, and Henderson carries them over to 
the girls on a small tray) But I hope I shall see a 
great deal of you after this. 

Mary Anne. (Takes punch from tray) 
(Smiles up at Henderson) Thank you. 

Elaine. No more for me just now. 

(Henderson carries tray with one glass back to 
table ivhere Teddy has, in the meantime, filled 
a glass for himself.) 

Mary Anne. (Sips punch at intervals) I’ve 
been having such a good time, Miss Jewett. Every¬ 
one has been so kind. They haven’t made a 
stranger of me at all. 

Teddy. (Comes down, carrying his glass of 
punch) The only trouble is that Miss Simmons is 
too popular. It threatens to disrupt the fraternity. 
Danger of duels and all sorts of things after this 
evening is over. (Takes spoonful of punch) 

Mary Anne. (Laughs) Be sure to have the 
duels by moonlight. They’ll be more picturesque. 

Henderson. Miss Simmons, how can you be so 
heartless ? 

Teddy. (Dramatically) Have you no pity for 
your unfortunate victims? 

Mary Anne. Men are happiest when they’re 
fighting. Why pity them? 

Henderson. By the way, Teddy, I just remem¬ 
ber—excuse the interruption, please, young ladies, 
but I promised to deliver a message to Mr. Farnum, 
a confidential message, and- 

Elaine. Confidential? Run along then out in 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 67 

the hall, the two of you. We wouldn’t intrude for 
worlds, would we. Miss Simmons. 

Mary Anne. {Laughingly) Not unless we had 
the chance. 

Teddy. But I don’t choose to run along. Old 
Henderson can talk to me any time. He isn’t a 
novelty. 

Henderson. But I promised to deliver the mes¬ 
sage immediately. 

Teddy. {Almost choking over his attempt to dis- 
pose of the punch and Henderson at the same 
time) I don’t want to hear it. 

Henderson. But when I promised to deliver it 


Teddy. Then deliver and be done with it. 

Henderson. {Hesitatingly) Right here before 
everyone ? 

Teddy. Of course. What ails you anyhow? 

Henderson. {Very significantly) It’s some¬ 
what personal, I fear. 

Teddy. There’s no one sending me personal mes¬ 
sages. I haven’t flirted with a chorus-girl in a year. 

Henderson. {Lowers his voice, as if zvith ex¬ 
treme regret at being forced to speak out) It’s a 
message from—from your tailor, Teddy. 

Teddy. {Scared and subdued) Why, but I 
don’t—at least if I do. I’d forgotten- 

Henderson. Well, he said to tell you in so 
many words- 

Teddy. {Interrupts hastily) Not before the 
whole world, if you please. {Turns tozvard Mary 
Anne) Excuse me a moment, Miss Simmons. 

Mary Anne. Certainly. 

Teddy. {Starts toward c. with Henderson, talk¬ 
ing under his breath, but very indignantly) What’s 
the matter with you ? Why should you choose such 
a time as this?" If I ever set eyes on that tailor 
again— {He and Henderson exit c. and off l.) 

Elaine. Let me relieve you of that. {Takes 





68 THE BLOSSOM TNG OF MARY ANNE. 


punch from jMary Anne^ and goes toward table 
zvitJi it) 

Mary Anne. That was very nice indeed. 

Elaine. {Produces letter from the bosom of her 
gozvn) Oh, by the way, here’s a letter some one 
must have dropped by accident! {Reaches side of 
sofa zvhere Mary Anne is sitting) It’s addressed 
to you. 

Mary Anne. {Looks up, surprised) To me? 

Elaine. Yes, see for yourself. {Gives Mary 
the letter) 

Mary Anne. {Astonished) With the old 
Farmdale address! 

Elaine. Evidently the writer did not expect to 
meet you in the city, and thought you were living 
there yet. 

Mary Anne. {Puzded) All ready for mailing 
but the stamp. Where did you find it, may I ask? 

Elaine. It was lying by the drawing-room door. 

JMary Anne. Why, how extraordinary! 
There’s no one here who’d be sending me a letter 
out to Farmdale—no one who knew .me there— 
{Thinks a moment) except Mr. Barkeley, and it 
couldn’t be from him. We weren’t in the habit of 
writing to each other. 

Elaine. Come to think of it, that does look like 
his odd, triangular handwriting. 

Mary Anne. I don’t know why, but I have a 
hesitancy about opening it, as if somehow it didn’t 
belong to me at all. 

Elaine. Dear me, if you had as much curiosity 
as I have, you’d have seen the inside of it at once. 

Mary Anne. I suppose I am silly to feel that 
way about it. I’ll open it now, if you’ll excuse me. 

Elaine. Certainly. 

Mary Anne. {Opens the letter, reads it, and her 
face becomes very serioits) You were right. Miss 
Jewett. It was Air. Barkeley’s triangular hand¬ 
writing. He did not expect to meet me here, and 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 69 

thought I was still in Farmdale. {Puts letter hack 
in its envelope) 

Elaine, There now, I hope I didn’t do wrong in 
handing it over. I hope it’s nothing unpleasant! 

Mary Anne. {Suddenly suspicious) Pardon 
me, but that sounds very much as if you knew 
what the letter contained—had something to do with 
the writing of it perhaps. 

Elaine. {Very stiffly) I had nothing to do with 
the writing of it, nor did Mr. Barkeley tell me what 
was in it. I give you my word of honor that he 
didn’t. I hope that satisfies you. 

Mary Anne. {Her voiee trembling) Yes, it 
does. I’m sorry I spoke as I did. 

Elaine. {With air of injured innoeence) I’m 
quite afraid for you to tell Mr. Barkeley that I gave 
you his letter. He may be offended too, and act as 
strangely about it as you did. 

Mary Anne. Please set your mind at rest on 
that score. I have no intention of mentioning to 
him that it ever reached me. 

(Elaine^ turning azvay, shozvs relief and triumph 
in her face. Mary xA.nne rising, zvalks 
agitatedly tozvard desk, tzidsting the letter in her 
hands.) 

Teddy. {Rushes in from c. tumultuously) 
Well, what do you think of Henderson ? He hadn’t 
talked with my tailor at all, doesn’t even know who 
he is. It was all a very crude attempt at a joke, 
merely to sidetrack me. He and the others thought 
I was taking up too much of your time, I suppose, 
Miss Simmons. 

Elaine. He deserves a good scolding, Mr. 
Farnum, and I shall make it my business to give it 
to him. {Exits c.) 

(Mary Anne drops the letter she has been holding 
in the zvaste-basket at the side of Trella’s desk.) 


;o THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 

Teddy. Til get even with him yet, and with any¬ 
one else who tries to prevent me from enjoying your 
society. (Barkeley enters l. Music starts off 
L.) It’s a wonder someone isn’t claiming you for 
the next dance right now- 

Barkeley. (Smiling) Someone is claiming her, 
Teddy. Miss Simmons, this is our dance, I believe? 

Mary Anne. Oh, is it? (Walks toward c. from 
desk) 

Teddy. Well, this is plainly one of those even¬ 
ings when I should have stayed at home to wind the 
clock, and hold converse with the cat. (Exits l.) 

Barkeley. (Coming close to Mary Anne, and 
speaking very tenderly) I’ve been counting the 
minutes until I could come after you. 

Mary Anne. I find I’m rather tired and don’t 
care to dance. Will you take me back to my Aunt, 
please, Mr. Barkeley? 

Barkeley. (Starts hack, amazed and hurt) 
“ Mr. Barkeley? ” I thought we agreed in there a 
little while ago—that we’d go back to “ Bill ” and 
“ Mary Anne.” 

Mary Anne. Since then I’ve changed my mind. 
Men aren’t the only ones who can claim the right 
to do so, you know. 

Barkeley. (His amazement and chagrin increas¬ 
ing) Why, Mary Anne! 

Mary Anne. Miss Simmons, if you please. 
(Starts toward door c.) 

Barkeley. Wait! Don’t go like that! (As she 
hesitates, approaches her once more) I’ll take you 
back to Mrs. Kirkland of course, if you wish it, but 
first you owe me some sort of an explanation. Who 
has been talking with you? What has been said to 
turn you against me? 

Mary Anne. Why should you care for the good 
opinion of one you have met again so casually? 
You didn’t expect to see me when you came here to¬ 
night, did you? 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 71 

Barkeley. Of course not. I was certain you 
were still out in Farmdale, was even thinking of 
writing to you there. (She starts away again) Oh, 
Mary Anne—^^^liss Simmons, I mean !—Don’t run 
away from me. Don’t play hot and cold with me. 
You still care for me, I know you do! 

Mary Anne. (With a cold little smile) Indeed? 
And how do you know it ? 

Barkeley. Because, that day of the accident, 
there at your Aunt’s house, it was you who knelt at 
my side, you who laid your soft cheek against my 
hand I Oh, all this time I’ve been imagining it was 
only a beautiful dream, but as soon as I looked into 
your eyes again to-night, something told me it was 
true, that I didn’t just imagine it. You couldn’t 
have acted like that if you hadn’t cared as you did 
in the old days, you couldn’t! You can’t have 
changed so entirely in the last few minutes. 

Mary Anne. But you see the last few minutes 
have taught me such a lot of things, I never knew 
before. They’ve taught me it is only because I’m 
gowned and jewelled like the other girls of your set 
that you find me attractive, only because I happen 
to be Mrs. Kirkland’s niece and society’s pet, that 
3mur wandering thoughts return to me, and that as 
far as the Mary Anne Simmons you used to know is 
concerned, you never really loved her even when you 
first swore that you did; you wanted to be rid of the 
poor freckle-faced bumpkin even then, in your heart. 
Well, you are rid of her now, rid of her forever. 
(As Barkeley starts to speak) Never pretend that 
you love me again as long as you live, never, never, 
for nothing you could say or do would make me be¬ 
lieve you, or trust in you again. I’m done with you, 
done! (Her voice breaks, and with a half sob she 
turns away and runs ojf c.) 

(Barkeley drops into a chair in an attitude of titter 
dejection.) 


72 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Elatn’e. {Enters at l. Looks to see that she and 
Barkeley are alone, then speaks) I had to get 
away from the crowd a moment. Trella and I have 
had upsetting news this evening. {Apparently notic- 
inq his dejected attitude for the first time) Why,. 
Bill, what’^s the matter? 

Barkeley. {Trying to appear as usual) Noth¬ 
ing—that is—oh, never mind about me I What were 
you going to say ? 

Elatne. That can wait. What has hurt you, 
Bill? Tell me, won’t you? 

Barkeley. Your popular guest—Miss Simmons 
—has shown that she despises me, that’s all. 

Elaine. {Turns azvay her face, hut listens 
eagerly) When? How? 

Barkeley. Here, just now, in a short conversa¬ 
tion we had together. 

Elaine. Why should you care what she thinks 
of you? 

Barkeley. Because she’s the girl I love, has al¬ 
ways been the girl. 

Elaine. {With cold politeness) Oh! 

Barkeley. Looking back on the past few years, 
I realize how much of a cad I must have seemed to 
her, but if she meant to punish me for it, why was 
.she so kind just a few moments before? 

Elaine. Her head has been completely turned, 
they say, since Mrs. Kirkland took her up. The rise 
was too rapid for her to stand. She has grown to 
be a great coquette, I hear. 

Barkeley. No, no, she’s entirely unspoiled. If 
it were merely vanity, or coquetry that made her 
turn upon me the way she did, I might find comfort 
in the thought, but she was as simple and sincere 
as she ever was—only with a bitterness I cannot 
understand! Mary Anne! Mary Anne! {Buries 
his face in his hands) 

Elaine. {Puts her hand on his shotdder) Bill, 
don’t act like that. I can’t bear to see you take it 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 73 

so hard. Put her out of your mind. She’s not 
worthy of you, and there are other girls who’d al¬ 
most give their lives for what she’s thrown away,— 
other girls who have always cared for you, will go 
on caring no matter if—oh, what am I saying? 
{Turns azvay, apparently much confused) 

Barkeley. {Ainazed) Other girls? Why, you 
can’t mean- 

Elaine. {With pretended impulse) That I 
care? Yes, I do. Oh, I shouldn’t confess this to 
you, I know, it’s—it’s unwomanly—but to see you 
suffer because of the cruelty, the indifference of an¬ 
other girl, when I— {Turns azvay, shielding her face 
zvith her arms) Oh, I’m so ashamed ! Forget what 
I have said, please, please! 

Barkeley. {KAndly) No, why should I forget 
it? Your sympathy is very grateful, Elaine. I con¬ 
fess I never suspected—can hardly believe yet— 
that your feeling for me is anything more than 
friendliness. And there are other chaps, Hender¬ 
son, for instance- 

Elaine. Don’t speak of him, or anyone else. 
You only make it harder for me when you plead the 
cause of another. Oh, Bill, don’t you care for me, 
just a little? 

Barkeley. I’ve got to be honest with you, Elaine. 
When it’s a question of anyone other than Mary 
Anne, I’ve only a shred of heart left, not worth the 
offering. • 

Elaine. But what if I’d be grateful for even that 
shred ? 

Barkeley. {Amazed hut gallant) Why, then 
it’s yours, of course, and I’ll try to make you happy. 

Elaine. Bill! {Goes up to him and raises her 
face for a kiss. He kisses her upon the forehead) 
Come into the library, and. I’ll tell you the news 
about father. No one knows it yet, but Trella and 
myself. Come, I don’t want anyone to overhear. 
{Exits R. follozved by Barkeley) 




74 the blossoming OF MARY ANNE. 

{Enter from c. Trella, Patty and Mary Anne, 
apparently continuing a conversation begun be¬ 
fore they made their appearance.) 

Patty. {Laughing) And as I was saying to 
Charlie—Trella ought to put Teddy into her novel 
just as he is. He’d make a hit. 

Mary Anne. {Turns to Trella in surprise) 
Why, is Miss Jewett writing a novel? 

Trella. I’m trying too, though I’m afraid the 
publishers may pronounce it a joke-book instead, 
with the joke on me. Which just reminds me that 
Elaine said she’d put it back on my desk. {Goes to- 
zvard desk. Patty sits on sofa, and Mary Anne 
stands behind her) 

Patty. And did Mr. Barkeley help you out all 
right ? 

Trella. {Desists from looking for Mss. for a 
moment, and turns to anszver) He certainly did. 
You see. Miss Simmons, at a particular place in my 
story, I have my villain try to rid himself of the 
girl he’s grown tired of by sending her a curt and 
decisive letter. Well, I made a dozen tries at that 
letter, but it simply refused to be curt and decisive, 
so a while ago—I don’t know exactly what put it in 
my head to do it—I pressed Mr. Barkeley into 
service to add the masculine touch the letter needed. 
{Picks up Mss. of book from desk, and begins to 
shuffle thru it) Where is that letter, I wonder? 
Elaine said she’d pin it to my manuscript and leave 
it here, but she hasn’t done so. Mercy, I hope it 
isn’t lost! I wouldn’t want to impose on Mr. 
Barkeley again. He didn’t particularly enjoy being 
Aullainous, even for literary purposes, I know he 
didn’t. 

Patty. Can’t you remember the way it worded ? 

Trella. Perhaps I can. It wasn’t very long. 
{Thinks a moment, then begins to repeat zvords of 
letter) “ Dear girl:— 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 75 

I understand you are coming to the city, and I 
suspect it may be in the hope of meeting me ”—Er— 
{Tries to remember the rest of it, but fails) 

IMary Anne. {Involuntarily, pressing her hand 
to her heart) Oh ! 

Patty. (Startled) What’s the matter, Miss 
Simmons ? 

Mary Anne. {Smiles) Why—I—had a sort 
of—smothering sensation for just a moment, but 
I’m all right now. I'hat was a real letter you were 
quoting from, wasn’t it. Miss Jewett? One that 
Mr. Barkeley wrote and meant to send? 

Trelt.a. {Setting Mary Anne right) Real? 
When he wrote it at my request ? 

Mary Anne. {Insisting) But it sounds as if it 
might be intended for a real letter to a real girl. 

Trella. That’s just what Elaine seemed to think. 
Which shows it’s just the sort of thing I want— 
convincing, you know. 

Mary y^NNE. Let me look too. Maybe I can 
help you find it. {Walks toward desk) 

Patty. Me too. I never, never find anything, 
but I’m always willing to try. {Jumps up, and looks 
carefully under a sofa-cushion) No, it isn’t there. 
If it had been, the shock would have killed me. 

(Trella goes toward table to look, and as she does 
so, Mary Anne stoops and rescues letter from 
the scrap-basket, drops envelope back in basket, 
and comes toward Trella.) 

Mary y\NNE. Is this it? 

Trella. {Snatches it eagerly) It certainly is. 
Where did you find it ? 

Mary Anne. In the scrap-basket. 

Trella. How careless of Elaine to drop it there ! 
I can’t understand it. Thank you so much, Miss 
Simmons. It shan’t escape again. This time I’ll lock 
it in my desk, and keep the key. {Suits the action 
to the word) 


76 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

Teddy. {Enters from l.) Oh, Miss Simmons! 
The special exhibition dance by Pierre and Estelle 
of the Follies is about to begin. Mrs. Kirkland was 
kind enough to say I might come after you. 

Patty. Well, why didn’t Charlie come after me, 
I wonder? I know! He’s probably trying to flirt 
with Estelle! Come on, Trella! We mustn’t miss 
the fun! {She and Treixa exit c. Barkeley 
enters r.) 

Teddy. I’m sure you’ll enjoy little Estelle when 
she turns on the twirls. {Offers arms) 

Mary Anne. {Caught by the sorrozvful look 
Barkeley gwes her from across the room) I think 
I’ll ask you to come back after me a little later if 
you don’t mind. I want a word with Mr. Barkeley, 
just now. 

Teddy. A little later is better than never. That 
man Barkeley is a natural born trouble-maker! 
{Exits L.) 

Barkeley. {Comes tozvard Mary Anne. They 
stand looking at each other in silence for a moment) 
You—^}mu wish to speak to me, punish me still 
further. Miss Simmons? 

Mary Anne. {Very softly) It needn’t be “ Miss 
Simmons.” I’ve changed my mind again. I don’t 
want to punish you, no! Instead, I’d like to 
apologize. 

Barkeley. {Amased) Apologize? 

(Elaine appears unseen at r.) 

Mary Anne. {Rapidly and zvith feeling) For 
misjudging you, doubting your sincerity, accusing 
you in my mind of something you were never guilty 
of. I take it all back, every harsh word. Can you 
forgive me. Bill? 

Barkeley. {Greatly moved) “Bill?” 

Elaine. {Comes forward, speaks lightly, but 
zvith an edge) Patching up some misunderstanding, 


THE BLOSSOMING OF jMARY ANNE. 77 

vou two? That’s right. (Turns to Mary Anne) 
But, really, you must not call him “ Bill,” you know, 
or I shall be jealous. Mr. Barkeley and I have just 
l)ecome engaged. 

Mary Anne. {Half stunned) Engaged? 
Barkeley. {Cries out to her in love and despair) 
Mary Anne .! 

Mary Anne. {With cold dignity) I con¬ 
gratulate you, Mr. Barkeley. 

{The niiisic of a Hungarian dance begins off l. 
Teddy rushes in from l. Simultaneously 
Mason and Henderson descend upon Mary 
Anne from c.) 

Teddy. She’s turned on the pifouettes. You 
•mustn’t miss a minute of this! 

Henderson. Look here, Teddy, I’ve just had 
seats set aside for Aliss Simmons and her Aunt my¬ 
self. 

Mason. Let me take Miss Simmons in, Teddy, 
I haven’t danced with her once this evening. 

Teddy. (Mary Anne’s arm in his, he zvaves them 
mvay zvith other hand) Keep back! Keep back! 
If anyone interferes this time—it’s murder! 

(Starts tozvard l. Mason and Henderson follozv, 
saying '' But Teddy! ” '' Dont be a goop! ” etc. 
Teddy, Mary Anne, Mason and Henderson 
exit L. Barkeley stands staring after them. 
Elaine at extreme r., regards him zvith great 
annoyance, twisting at her fan, enraged that he 
remains tinconscious of her presence.) 


CURTAIN, 


78 THE BLOSSO:\nNG OF MARY ANNK 


ACT IV. 

Scene: — Same as Act I. 

Time: —The next Summer. 

DISCOVERED: —Mrs. Simmons, dusting; Betsy, 
zuith zvash-cloth in hand and a pail of zvater at 
her feet, standing still, staring out of the 
zvindozju. 


Mrs. Simmons. Now take a damp cloth and wipe 
off that rockin’*-chair, Betsy. Sister Rhoda will be 
down stairs as soon as she g^ets her things off, and 
though she mightn’t notice if there was a speck of 
dust, ’twoukl give me nervous prostration if she did. 
(As Betsy dabs at zihndozv sill zvith damp cloth) 
The rockin’-chair I said, child. What does possess 
you to fuss around that window ? You’d think there 
was a circus procession a goin’ past, or somethin’. 

Betsy. The hired man- 

Mrs. Simmons. For the land sakes, is it the hired 
man again? 

Betsy. Ye-es’m. 

Mrs. Simmons. I thought when Peter got 
married and we took on a new hired man, you’d get 
sensible. What’s he doin’ that you can’t turn your 
head this way even when I’m a talkin’ to you ? 

Betsy. Smilin’. 

Mrs. Simmons. An’ stoppin’ work to show off' 
his teeth, I s’pose. He’s got just about brains 
enough to keep a Plymouth Rock rooster from 
failin’ off the fence, an’ no more. Will you wipe 
off that chair or won’t you? 

Betsy. Ye-es’m. (Wipes chair, but tries to keep 
an eye on the windozv zi’hile she does so) A 



THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 79 

Plymouth Rock rooster ain’t so bad at scratchin’ 
round an’ makin’ a livin’ for the family. 

Mrs. Simmons. Sometimes, Betsy, you say things 
so idiotic that they most sound sensible. Do you 
realize that you keep a rubbin’ just one leg of that 
chair as if it was all the poor thing had? 

Betsy. {Turns chair and begins to zvipe off an- 
'Other part of it) I’m absent minded in the Spring 
of the year. 

Mrs. Simmons. It ain’t only in the Spring of the 
year your mind’s absent, child, though I do notice 
you’re slacker than usual the last few days. What’s 
the reason ? 

Betsy. (Drazuls, staring out of the zvindozv 
again) I dunno. 

Mrs. Simmons. You’re lookin’ at the reason 
now, an’ I ain’t goin’ to stand no more of it. {Pulls 
Betsy bach and goes up to zjuindozv herself. Calls) 
Henry! Stop mowin’ the front yard, an’ go out in 
the barn and clean oE the horses ’til I call you, an’ 
if the horses are all cleaned off already, clean oft" the 
cows. Do somethin’ to take you out of sight of 
these windows. 

Voice. {Off r.) Yes’m. 

Mrs. Simmons. Now mebbe you can’t ’tend to 
your work. 

(Betsy mournfully souses cloth in pail, and zvrings 
it out. Mrs. Simmons slaps dust-rag against 
picture on wall.) 


Betsy. {Slowly and seriously) Mrs. Simmons, 
if it was the Spring of the year, an’ you was a single 
girl, an’ wanted to marry the hired man, an’ he 
didn’t ask you, what would you do? 

^Irs. Simmons. Take him by the ear and souse 
him in the rainwater hogshead ’til he did. For the 
land sakes don’t look as if you was thinkin’ that 
over] You ain’t got no more sense of humor 


So THE BEOSSOAIIHG OF IHARY ANHE. 


than— (Mrs. Kirkland enters l., wearing elaborate 
negligee and boudoir cap) Gracious me, Rhoda,. 
what you got on a baby’s bunnet for ? 

Mrs. Kirkland. It’s an imported boudoir cap. 
I brought one for you almost like it. 

Mrs. Simmons. I’ll have to decline it, sister. If 
our minister ever called and undertook to hold a 
session of prayer, an’ me a wearin’ a thing like that, 
he’d be as confused as the tower of Babel, though I 
must say that rosette looks as fascinatin’ to me as 
sin to the sinner. (Betsy exits l., with pail, slowly 
and with her slippers flapping) Mary Anne might 
see fit to wear it, but she don’t have much chance at 
furbelows since she went to work in the hospital. 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Seating herself) Tell me 
about Mary Anne. That’s what I came down for 
more than anything else, to find out how she is and 
all about her. Oh, my dear, you don’t know what a 
blow it was to me, right in the midst of the season, 
to have her give it all up and insist on coming back 
here to study to be a nurse! 

Mrs. Simmons. An’ she’ll keep it up ’til she gets 
her diploma, I reckon. ’Tain’t like her to turn back, 
once she gets started. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Why, the very week she left 
New York she refused two perfectly eligible young 
men without even taking the trouble to think them 
over! Of course, no one would stop to think over 
Teddy Farnum, but that Harvard half-back was a 
real catch. Sometimes I think I’d like to wring Bill 
Barkeley’s neck. 

Mrs. Simmons. Oh, I don’t lay her takin’ up 
nursin’ to Bill Barkeley. She’s got over carin’ for 
him, and smiles just as cheery as ever, as far as I 
can see. If she hain’t got over it, I don’t see how 
she stands it the way she does with him around in 
town this Summer engaged to another girl. 

{Enter Miss Slissy from l. She has a pin-cushion 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 8i 


attached to her waist, and her mouth is fidl of 
pins most of the time while she talks. In her 
hands she holds a floivered lazvn zvaist which she 
is making for Mrs. Simmons.) 

Miss Slissy. (/f is plainly apparent from her 
eager tone that she has been listening the other side 
of the door) Talkin’ about Mary Anne and Bill 
Barkeley ? 

Mrs. Simmons. No, Sairy Applegate Slissy, I 
was talkin’ about Betsy and our former hired man. 

Miss Slissy. Do you mind if I see whether this 
waist is the right width across the back ? 

Mrs. Simmons. (Rises with a sigh) I reckon 
not, though you measured my back an hour ago. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Do you wear those felt shoes 
for comfort. Miss Slissy, or merely for the pleasure 
of slipping in unobserved? 

Miss Slissy. (Pottering zvith zvaist while she 
talks) Well, I always was too kind hearted to in¬ 
terrupt folks when they’re tellin’ anything interestin’ 
an’ confidential. Gracious me. Mis’ Simmons, I do 
believe you grow broader through the shoulders 
right along. I’m afraid I’ll have to set a piece in. 
(Pins the zvaist to Mrs. Simmons’ hack zvhile she 
measures) 

Mrs. Simmons. Ouch! You needn’t puncture 
my spine. I need it. 

Miss Slissy. Excuse me. I’m so used to stickin’ 
myself that I don’t mind it at all. Folks do say. Mis’ 
Kirkland, that Mary Anne a cornin’ back here and 
takin’ a job in our new hospital looks as if she’d 
had some kind of a serious set-back. (Mrs. Sim¬ 
mons 'moves zvith an impatient exclamation) Please 
stand still, ^lis’ Simmons, I almost stuck you again. 
Folks do say it’s because of Bill Barkeley’s gettin’ 
engaged to Elaine Jewett, but then I don’t think 
we’d ought to believe all we hear, without other 
evidence, do you ? 


82 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Mrs. Kirkland. {Pleasantly) Of course not. 
For instance, folks do say that you have an un¬ 
fortunate habit of being interested in affairs that are 
none of your business, Miss Slissy, but I shouldn’t 
think of believing it without other evidence. 

Miss Slissy. Well, I should like to know who 
says that! There ain’t a word of truth in it.—I 
s’pose you’ve heard that Elaine Jewett’s Pa lost his 
money last winter? 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Blandly ignoring the ques¬ 
tion) I like the way you’ve laid out those nastur¬ 
tium beds this Summer, Amanda. 

Miss Slissy. Sometimes I wish I lived in New 
York where you could get the news up to date. 
Some say it was Bill Barkeley’s money that helped 
Mr. Jewett to start up again, but there’s no tellin’ 
whether ’twas or not. I reckon it’ll be a good many 
years before the Jewetts is able to hold their heads 
so high as they used to, an’ they’re havin’ some 
extry trouble right now with the youngest girl a 
bein’ sick an’ ah. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Amanda, I hadn’t heard that 
Trella Jewett was worse. 

^Iiss Slissy. She had a relapse yesterday, an’ 
ain’t expected to get well. I said when Elaine 
Jewett was hirin’ that new dressmaker that’s moved 
here, that somethin’ would happen to her to pay for 
it. 

(Betsy, much disheveled, her arms and sleeves zvet 
and her hair falling dozvn, enters at l.) 

Betsy. {Breathlessly) It’s all right. Mis’ 
Simmons! 

Mrs. Simmons. What’s all right? 

Betsy. The hired man says he’ll marry me, but 
I had to duck him in the rainwater hogshead twice 
before he’d promise. {Wrings zvater out of her 
sleeve) 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 83 

Mrs. Simmons. {Horrified) For the Ian’s sake, 
she did it! She actually went and did it just be¬ 
cause I told her too! She ain’t got any more sense 
of humor than a motherin’ duck a tryin’ to make a 
two days’ old chicken swim. 

. Betsy. The duck can’t always make the chicken 
go into the water, but I made him. He kicked 
somethin’ awful. Don’t you reckon I’d ought to 
have a new dress to be married in ? 

Miss Slissy. {Folding up Mrs. Simmons’ waist) 
If you’re askin’ my opinion, I do. Time was when 
I wouldn’t sew for hired-girls, but work is slack 
with me now, seein’ I ain’t got Miss Jewett’s trowso 
I’d depended on to do. 

Betsy. Thursday is my afternoon off, if you 
want to fit me up then. 

Mrs. Simmons. Betsy, if you’ll take Miss Slissy 
to your room to finish bastin’ my waist, you can 
have the rest of her time for the afternoon, or any¬ 
way until she’s ready to go. 

Miss Slissy. Dear me! Mis’ Simmons, that does 
certainly prove you’re kind hearted, in spite of most 
everybody sayin’ you’re growin’ cranky in your old 
age. 

Betsy. Come on then. Miss Slissy, I’m a plannin’ 
to have a weddin’ dress, an’ a goin’ away dress, and 
a stayin’ at home dress, an’ a silk night gown 
that’s all crawly when you put it on! An’ you can 
make a necktie for the hired man as my weddin’ 
present. {Exit Betsy l., with Miss Slissy follozv- 
ing) 

Mary Anne. {Enters c., peeping off l. as she 
does so) Has she gone? (Mary Anne wears a 
long gray cape over a nurse’s uniform) 

Mrs. Kirkland. {Springs up, delighted) Why, 
Marion, my dear, where did you drop from? 
{Embraces Mary Anne) 

Mary Anne. {Brightly) It wasn’t a drop—it 
was a climb. The hospital is at the foot of the hill. 


84 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 

(Puts 0]f the cape) Oh, Auntie, dear, Em so glad 
to see you again! The Superintendent heard you 
were coming and gave me a half-hour of liberty to 
welcome you. Alumsey, Tm starving! Can’t I have 
a slice of bread and jam to eat while I talk? 

Mrs. Simmons. Just opened a jar of quince this 
mornin’. (Exits L.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. Don’t they feed you enough in 
that hospital, Marian? You’re losing flesh. 

]\L\ry Anne. Useless flesh, then, that was only 
a nuisance to carry around. What is left is 
good bone and muscle, made by the wholesome 
sensible food we’re living on. All the same, I some¬ 
times long for forbidden jam, and return to it like 
the Israelites to the flesh-pots of Egypt. (As Mrs. 
vSiMMONS brings in the bread and jam) Oh, 
Mumsey, that looks simply entrancing! 

Mrs. Simmons. (Pleased) I reckon you’ll find 
it tasty. I’ve got to go right back and drive the 
speckled rooster out of the geranium patch. He’s 
struttin’ through it for the seventh time this mornin’. 
(Exits L. ) 

(IMary Anne makes a pretense of eating, then 
pushes the plate aside.) 

Mrs. Kirkland. (Observing her keenly) Well, 
little Marian? 

Mary Anne. (With forced lightness) Well, big 
Aunt Rhoda? 

Mrs. Kirkland. I see through it all—your 
laughter, your cheerfulness, even the appetite and 
the slice of bread that you didn’t want. It deceived 
your mother, but sometimes I think I understand 
you better than even your own flesh and blood. 

Mary Anne. Don’t worry about me Auntie. 
There’s no cure in the world for heartache like good 
hard work. I’m getting over it. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Really getting over it? 

IMary Anne. Not in the way you mean, perhaps. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 85 

I’m one of the girls that when she cares once has to 
keep on caring. 

Mrs. Kirkland. Come, be sensible! Give up 
this idea of a vocation. Shed that nurse’s gown, 
and let me take you traveling for a year. 

Mary Anne. Oh, no, dear Aimtie, I don’t want 
to try to run away from myself. And it’s good for 
me there at the hospital. I see so much real trouble 
that my own selfish sorrow looks small and petty 
beside it. I’m working to heal others, and that’s 
the way to heal myself, the only way. I’m sure of 
it, even if it does take time. 

Mrs. Simmons. {Enters l.) Made a grab for 
that rooster, and scared him as bad as if I’d pulled 
out all his tail fathers. Guess next time he’ll know 
enough to leave them flower-beds alone. Rhoda, the 
horse is all^harnessed and I’ve got to go down to 
the store for a dollar’s worth of sugar that Betsy 
didn’t know enough to tell me we were out of. I 
don’t s’pose you feel like cornin’ too? I’m going in 
the buckboard. 

Mrs. Kirkland. In the buckboard? Delicious. 
Just as soon as I get into my dust coat and a hat. 
I haven’t had a ride in a buckboard since I was a 
^irl. But— {Hesitated) Mary Anne- 

Mary Anne. Run right along, Auntie. I must 
"o back soon anyhow, and to-morrow is my free day 
and we can visit for hours. 

Mrs. Kirkland. What fun to drive old Dobbin 
again. 

{Exit Mrs. Simmons and Mrs. Kirkland l.) 

Mary Anne. {Left alone, she walks over to 
bird-cage near the windozv. Chirrups to the bird) 
Sing for your missy, Flubdub! Sing for joy because 
you aren’t like the poor folks in the hospital. You 
don’t get dreadful things the matter with you like 
appendicitis, and meningitis, and tonsilitis. I don’t 



86 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 


even believe you have heartache-itis, Birdie, and 
that’s where you’re very lucky indeed 1 {Turns her 
attention to a flower growing in a pot) Why, poor- 
little rosy-posy, you don’t look as thrifty as you did 
when I left home! Do they forget to water and 
take care of you, or don’t they know that flowers 
have feelings and like to be petted and encouraged 
the same as other people? {Picks ojf a zvithered 
leaf) There, now I’ve trimmed your scolding locks. 
Cheer up * Think how much better you’re going to 
look! Oh, there’s a beautiful bud you’ve been hid¬ 
ing away in your green leaves, you little fraud, you! 
And you’re trying to make me think you had done 
nothing at all but get discouraged! Now hurry up 
and bloom your prettiest, and I’ll take you—where 
do you think? To a little sick girl in the hospital, 
and perhaps you’ll talk to her of the sunshine and 
the green leaves outside, and hearten her to get well 
again. That’s something worth living for, isn’t it? 
{Starts to sing '' Go, Pretty Rose,’' as she still zvorks 
over the flozver. Barkeley appears in door c., and 
stands zvatching her) 

Barkeley. {As she pauses) ]\Iary Anne! 

Mary Anne. You! {Startled, presses hand to 
heart) 

Barkf].ey. I — frightened you ? 

AIary Anne. {Struggling for composure) No, 
only—coming in like that—so suddenly—Has any¬ 
thing happened ? Is Trella worse? 

Barjceley. Trella is better, the crisis is passed. 

Mary Anne. Oh, that’s good! How pleased 
Elaine wdl be! 

Barkeley. I haven’t seen Elaine since I came 
from New York this morning. Trella’s father told 
me. 

Mary Anne. She was so busy caring for her 
sister, I suppose. 

Barkeley. I didn’t wait to see her, Mai*y Anne, 
because—while I sat there—I caught a glimpse of 


.'THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 87 

you, in your long gray cloak, coming up the hill. 
It brought back all I’ve been fighting against these 
three months. 

Mary Anne. (Tremulonsly turning away) I 
don’t understand. 

Barkeley. Are you sure you don’t? I told you 
that night of the dance that I loved you. What story 
against m.c caused you to treat me as you did, I don’t 
know. But I do know this—that there was love in 
your eyes when I saw you again and you asked my 
forgiveness. Mary Anne, if I had only been free 
then to speak- 

]\Iary Anne. (Desperately) Talking over the 
past is useless, and old-fashioned. People never do 
it nowadays, and I must be starting back to the 
hospital. 

Barkeley. There was love in your eyes when 
you looked at me. (Seizes her hand) 

Mary Anne. Let me go, please, please! 

Barkeley. (Masterfully) Look at me again, 
Mary Anne. (She does so, then turns away and 
covers her face zvith her hands) I knew it, Mary 
Anne. Listen I It’s a mistake for us to wreck our 
two lives when we love each other. Elaine will 
understand when I stell her, she must understand.^ 
If she doesn’t, why, well we’ll not think of her, 
that’s all. There’s only you and I in the whole 
world, little girl- 

Mary Anne. (Interrupts) Only you and I, and 
duty. The knowledge that we must do what is 
right. Bill. 

Barkeley. You think- 

Mary Anne. I think because your word is given, 
you must be true to it. 

Barkeley. (Sadly, after a moment's pause) 
It wouldn’t be you if you thought otherwise. 

]\Iary Anne. You think so too, Bill. You know 




88 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNK 


Barkeley. (Bozus his head, scarcely able to con¬ 
trol his voice) Yes, but it’s hard’ 

Mary Anne. If every battle were easy in this 
world, there’d be no glory in winning. Good-bye 
Bill. You’re going back to Elaine. You’re going ta 
care for her, and make her happy. 

Barkeley. I’m going to try. But oh, little Mary 
Anne— {Holds out his arms, and speaks pleadingly) 
just once \ 

Mary Anne. {Shakes her head) We can’t com¬ 
promise with duty. Good-bye, Bill. 

Barkeley. Good-bye. {Turns and rushes from 
the room in despair) 

Mary Anne. {Softly, sadly) Oh, Bill, you’ll 
never know what it cost me to let you go! {Leans 
against mantelpiece, her face hidden) 

. Miss Slissy. {Heard off l.) Well, at the price 
I’m givin’ you, I shan’t make more’n bread an’ salt 
on my work, but I always was kind hearted. 
(Mary Anne dries her eyes hastily as Miss Slissy 
enters. Enter Miss Slissy l.) Well, my goodness, 
Mary Anne, what are you home for this time of 
day? I expect you’ve lost your job to the hospital, 
/ well, I always said you was too finicky and high 
and mighty to give satisfaction. 

Mary Anne. I haven’t lost my job. Miss Slissy. 
I was up all night on an operation case, and the 
Superintendent gave me this time off to meet my 
Aunt, 

Miss Slissy. I thought I just saw your Aunt 
drivin’ off with your Ma in the buckboard. You 
ain’t be’n havin’ an attack of influenzy, lately, have 
you, Mary Anne? 

Mary Anne. Why, no, certainly not. 

Miss Slissy. Your eyes look so red I thought it 
was either influenzy or cryin’. But niebbe ’tis from 
settin’ up nights at the hospital. There ain’t nothin’ 
like losin’ sleep to cause a girl to fade, ’specially if 
she’s like you—one of them kind that fade early 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 89 

anyhow. I look just as young as I did ten years ago, 
an’ mebbe younger. Well, I’ve got to trot along, or 
I shan’t get nothin’ done about sendin’ for them 
samples of weddin’ goods. Good-day, Mary Anne. 

Mary Anne. Good-day, Miss Slissy. 

IMiss Slissy. You can tell your Aunt that like as 
not I’ll drop in to-morrow after she’s unpacked her 
trunk to look at some of the city styles. Though I 
must say she ain’t what I call my style of a woman. 
These top-loftical ones like her an’ Elaine Jewett 
most always come a cropper ’fore they’re through 
with it, an’ I’m just a waitin’ — {Meets Elaine just 
as she reaches door c.) Well, my goodness. Miss 
Jewett, how do you do? 

Elaine. Very well, thanks. Don’t let me detain 
you. Miss Slissy. 

Miss Slissy. I shan’t. When a dressmaker is as 
popular and rushed as I am, with trowsos and such 
things, she can’t afford to waste her time on those as 
ain’t regular customers. Good-day! {Sails out, 
triumphantly) 

Mary Anne. Do come in, Miss Jewett. I have 
only ten minutes before I have to go back on duty, 
but- 

Elaine. I’m very fortunate to find you here at 
all. 

Mary x4nne. How is your sister ? 

Elaine. The doctor assured me this morning 
that there was now every chance of a permanent re¬ 
covery. 

Mary Anne. I’m so glad to hear that! vShe’s 
suffered for so long. 

Elaine. I didn’t come here, though, to talk about 
Trella. Oh, Mary Anne, I’ve been so unhappy these 
past three months! 

Mary Anne. Unhappy ! Why, but I thought— 
until your sister grew so ill, that you—that you— 
{Hesitates) 



90 THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 


Elaine. {Completing ]\Iary Anne’s sentence) 
Had everything I wanted ? It did look like it, didn’t 
It ? Ed set my heart on landing Bill Barkeky, and I 
did it, only to find that I was more miserable than 
ever before in mv life. 


Mary Anne. {Surprised) Why, Miss Jewett! 

Elaine. I ve just stumbled across a great truth, 
Mary Anne. People who think only of themselves^ 
work only for themselves, live only for themselves, 
are always miserable. I tried to cheat myself by 
saying that I was justified in what I did, to win 
money to give Trella the care she needed. But 
Trella wouldn’t let me deceive myself that way. 
She made me see she’d be happier in poverty, and 
respecting me, than she would with all the money 
I could give her, if I married Bill. So it narrowed 
down to the struggle between conscience and my 
own mercenary self. And self would have won out 
if It hadn’t been for Trella’s terrible illness. My 
^ster has been the only unselfish love of my life. 
Oh, Mary Anne, three nights ago, when it seemed 
she was going from me, I thought my verv soul was 
going with her! And I knelt down and prayed to 
Lrod and promised him that if she were spared to 
me, I d give Bill Barkeley back to the girl he really 
loved. You, Mary^ Anne Simmons, it has always 
been you. I knew it, even when I tricked him into 
engagement, in my baseness even using poor 
I rella as an unconscious instrument to further my 
ends heaven forgive me! You ought to have seen 
his face when I met him out there just now, and 
told him he was free. It was the most uncompli- 
nientary thing I ve ever experienced 

Mary Anne (In intense half-zvhisper of 
ecstasy) You told Bill—he was free? 

Elaine. Why, little Mary Anne! Does it mean 
that much to you? You look as if you had stepped 
ti-om earth straight into heaven! And to think I’ve 
kept you from such happiness all these miserable 


THE BLOSSOMING OF MARY ANNE. 91 

months ! Can you forgive me for the unworthy part 
Eve played? 

Mary Anne. If I had played it, I wonder if I 
would have been brave enough to make amends as 
you have done. Oh, Elaine, I love you! {Goes into 
Elaine’s arms) 

{There is a moment's eloquent silence.) 

Henderson. {Opens door c., which Miss Slissy 
had closed on making her exit) Knocked twice but 
nobody heard me. 

Mary Anne. Oh, come right in, Mr. Henderson ! 

Henderson. Well, say ! That nurse’s costume is 
most becoming! Your face blooms out of it like a 
rose. 

Elaine. Doesn’t it. It was so good of you to 
come down to Farmdale, Lloyd! You’ve heard, of 
course, that Trella is better? 

Henderson. Yes, I’ve heard, and I’ve got some 
news for Trella that will be a better medicine than 
even that famous new doctor can give. Her novel is 
accepted. I saw the publisher this morning, and he 
thinks it’s bound to be a hit. 

Elaine. And you came down from New York 
just on purpose to tell her this? I don’t believe I’ve 
half appreciated my friends in the past, but from 
now on—I’m going to be different. You’ll see. 

Henderson. Don’t change too much, Elaine, 
There are some of us who like you quite well as you 
are. Bill Barkeley’s a lucky chap! Oh, by the way, 
won’t you ride back in my car, or have you other 
company ? 

Elaine. Bill Barkeley is waiting in the arbor 
for me to come out. {Stops him as he starts to turn 
away) But we’ll just leave him here with Mary 
Anne, Lloyd. I fancy she has something to say to 
him alone. 

Henderson. {Puzded) With Miss Simmons? 
Why-- 



92 THE BLOSSOHIXG OF MARY AXXE. 


^Iary Anxe. (Flustrated) Oh, but I haven’t 
amiihing to say to him! 

El-AJXe. Well, I’m sure he has something to say 
to you. Shall I tell him to come in. 

^Iary Axxe. Why, of course, but — (Barkeley 
enters c., unperceh'ed by her, as she shyly faces 
azcay front her guests) Oh, eveiA^body stay 1 
Please stay! 

Elaine. (Motions Barkeley to silence) I can’t 
stay, but before I go. I’d like to return something 
that I borrowed for a little while. ^lay I? (Takes 
Barkeley by the hand. Brings him to Mary Axxe. 
Joins their hands. Goes out softly zoith Hexder- 
sox, and closes the door behind her) 

Barkeley. Mar\^Anne! (Without a zvord, she 
goes into his arms) 


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